I let myself slip
into the folds of my imagination.
Constantly second guessing myself
before questioning the things I’m told
and between these misunderstandings
I make assumptions like I were coming to conclusions,
like I were branding my name into the leather of my life
and I’ve been in this position before,
it’s like I’ve never taken notes long enough to learn
to avoid the things that burn through bone
where the things that I’ve been shown
were only thrown into the thresholds
of all these thoughts I’ve left to think for themselves.
There’s now a growing concern for the ones that dwell,
those recurring dreams that swell into surroundings
like crumbling castles housing too many jesters.
I still have a single thought that festers,
making gestures for the thing it cant speak,
flowing over every word I say
until the muffled ones
begin to decay
into a single idea that doesn’t even make sense.