Madness is hidden in depths of mind, not seated at Starbucks with a latte and laptop, inviting sweet situation.
The raw and rough remains of what lies left instructs me to tear at tight clothes, take off restrictions, and wear a loose facade.
We move like ghosts, cascading over sidewalks, unable to touch solid.
If I look into eyes, distrust and worry spill across an everyday gaze. You know me. I am the one who makes you uncomfortable.
For you, I would scrape my mind to make it easy. Easy for you to see me.