I feel like spitting some poetry
Will it get old or always feel new
all the dreams I create
Revolving exclusively around me and you
You shared some with me
Now they’re all I care to see
but my dear
is this a trajedy or comedy?
for if you were me
you’d know the fear consuming
the mind of schizo sees all the bad ends
even before the journey begins
is it doubt?
for crying out loud
how hard I have to peer to see through the cloud
There is that glimmer of hope you’ve given me
which is why I make it all I see
push out the rest
ignore the uncertainty
but I must ask again
Trajedy or comedy?
will it get old?
or is it me you seek?
the obtuse recluse
the isolate
the unstable
he who devoutly adores
he who seeks to be restored
what a chore
Just one more smile
just one more time
just 900 miles
perhaps a little more
Not the speed, not the acceleration, the jerk, nor the flux
Nothing left that I can adjust
The inevitable unfolding awaits but
What will it be?
ongoing uncertainty?
A comedy or trajedy?