Some of mind, some of lettering
In the absence of shades to hide beneath
I seek no respite, for it is futile
Unbeknownst to conscience, mine or otherwise
Spins wanton cravings, steamy or baked
Whose to know, Not me, I won't
It feeds, the mind and the soul, and on
When the day comes calling, and if I wake
Awash in the fragrant bath soap
Smelling like a an estranged vanilla cake
A cut, and sliced
In cut and dry, in audible framing
Of words causing an unwanted churning
Only to chum the seas of my being
Inviting the hungry, to one lost of it
Afloat, washed out, amongst the non foamy
Wavering, and lashing, bolting and dashing
I shall float, on that stormy sea
Maybe the sharks grow tired of such routine
Finding me afloat, considered a chore maybe
Then again am in the overtune of overthinking
I seek drowning, standing on sandy shores.
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