they thought it queer i didn't rise
i thought a lie would be queerer
the atmosphere of our beings should never be tortured the way we intend to each evening
interesting enough you will read this i will read this and forgot the point of the matter.
your inner being sounds like a harps accord caught up in a rain storm,you swear it sounds like pretty lavender violin strings.
your abbreviated neurosis.
your neurosis that lends her hand in your goal of over analyzation
time and time again.
don't you remember when z told you to hush
refrain from being so boisterous
the blood of each humans hurt
lays heavy upon your sleeve
because that one summer when I was in that speaking accident...
as if you were taking a tally!
of all the wrong that adds up to
solitary with a vengeance
and you blame hamlet
for making you
if you speak with your tendencies
or to a transparent revelation
or to an unknowing heart
speak slowly and avoid sounding