They're always mine when I need to see them A point in time where I lack my freedom Enters quickly into my conscience Never leaves even with some maintenance
I've been stuck in the middle Of a dubious puzzle I can't tell where to go now This all seems to little
What is real is present, misleading Always warped by senses, a secret But am I so different Then the ones that see it
Colors washed over numbers Smelling sounds of the summer Lexical observations Forcing some complications