Insecurity

Unfinished thoughts

Picking at the shreds of my insanity
Like picking threads from a worn sweater
I analyze and scrutinize every inch of me
Criticizing the bits like a bird choosing
The juiciest morsel of the insect world
Thinking that Poe in his opiate trances
Had nothing of craziness like me

A spring of sadness wells up in this
Quiet small heart, overflowing in its
Obscurity, damp with tears shed for
You who might own my soul if allowed
In shadow, darkness knows not light
And in light, no shadows roam

Author's Note

This is very unfinished, and seriously unpolished in it's current state.