Who's World is This!

Struggling with these thoughts that I face

projecting my inner maladies that just taste

like my own body out of it’s pace

perspiring small hints of my fate

and as faith would have it…

Or at least the spirit of it….

i confer a mandatory meeting with my senses

and I tell em’ to quit.

I’ve furnished this small space in my head

with wooden floors and bare walls instead

old paintings that i once fed

myself now lay lifeless from any likeness and dead.

Or at least the spirit of them that fit….

i confer a mandatory meeting with my senses

and I tell em’ to quit.

my hands are sewn into my pockets for trust

to keep my away from any fortune illustrious.

because as much as i work to rust

I’d rather do nothing with heart, just for a buck.

Or at least the spirit of that fits….

i confer a mandatory meeting with my senses

and they tell ME to quit.

(Poem was written today, didn’t look over it too much, just thought I’d let it flourish on the interweb. Sorry for errors, and what have you. Enjoy it though, and relate!)