I’m bearing burdens that are not mine, alright?
It doesn’t feel okay to be me today.
Fear of loss, of losing you
And afraid of the blue.
Time’s not just running round and round,
When will conversations that compound be found?
The ache is broad, the old world is grey.
The new one is rapidly coming our way.
Which new world is first? Must I ask?
Blindness is thoroughly completing its task.
How will the confluence take place?
Mine with the true, the true with the rat race?
Everyone’s blind? Blind I say!
But I stumbled and broke my glasses.
You’re blind! You’re blind! They say.
Vapors and smoke, thick as bricks
Come roaring, stomping.
Too much, too much. What’s in there?
Why are you stopping?
The true and the lie are getting a divorce,
It never could have worked out.
The true am I, because of the One who died,
But the lie am I also, getting the boot,
Good thing the kids are blind.
Wait! Wait! No way in hell!
Why do I keep telling what I tell?
No lie am I, can’t you see?
But how will you know which version of me
Is speaking?
Just my left hand is translator for the confusion.
The thought for the mind, the pen for the eye.
What’s inside is hard to tell,
I think most people want to go to hell.
I feel there often
And sometimes less often,
The old and lying new world provide me a coffin.
Now alone I sit, not toiling, really,
Expected to do all the work that feels needs killing.
Why don’t my balances work?
Man, really? Man?! You Say!?
That unfortunate conclusion of loss
That won’t win the day?
Who? Who there?
Can I trust you?
The supposed ‘safe place’ filled with terror.
I, myself, do write this, only to say:
Do I myself know what I say?
Paper Discourse 