Question?

I was quite sad when writing this.

A glass perspective rules over me,

A pinnacle of jagged prejudice,

And yet I am ready for the opening.

My lips quiver; my tongue aches, and,

my hands grip foreign landscapes,

How can I pause and reflect over a 

Flurry of storms and castrated fingerprints,

Over my eyes and body?

How do I cull jealousy and

psychedelic confusion?

Confusion over an irregular heartbeat,

and a fountain of questions,

that twists and curves awkwardly inside of 

me.

These clothes are soaked in shame,

and i'll hide this,

A noose is calling for me,

I must collect these feelings, 

and post them away.

Where next, friend? 

Author's Note

:')