Old thought

The connotations of your reflection and the things it means to you

You’re caught stumbling on every connection of your time and what you do

It’s the classification of just what you are

An idea you take too far

Ticking the boxes and setting the bar as your gut keeps screaming…

Come on and break the frame

You’ll feel better for it

Plan for everything

Pull on every string

It’s the specification of just what you are

An idea that’s so bizarre

Crushing the boxes and snapping the bar

It’s your guts true feeling

Buried deep in the stomach the resident monster heaving claw over claw up perishing tissue predatory eyes set on the mind laying stone on the causeway of fear whispering sweetly ‘It’s chaos it’s random collision’ harsh methods but maybe a dialogue not a fight maybe just insisting ‘Trust yourself’.