My mind is delusional as its twists it's fist around me.
It's images start to fall upon me and i wonder of its whispers.
I hear the screams of it's horror as its mistress dances,
as she drinks her champagne of her romances.
The air begins to stiffen and I picture myself going missing,
yet I remember its just a vision and that the unreasonable sound is just fiction.
It's walls come crashing down on me,
but I fight back by throwing paint on its frame.
It's canvas feels like jealous, the outraging shattering sound of thunder.
So quick like lighting and it still finds away to creep up on me.
The fear of nothing and yet death is my weapon,
my mind shouts out protection; as almost it had it's own intentions.
I climb the walls of fear and truth,
despite the fact I might fall;
as I roar my name yet it has no effect.
I ignite the flames of desire as it signals the alarm of fire,
calling for my art and yet it's masked in black.
I fear the truth because my mind is anonymous to the things I do,
yet unconscious my brain wonders for site;
so how can there be some lies without some truth?
Yet my broken emotions is what I seek for inspiration.
Yet I doubt that's the secret of my trigger, because its not the lotus of my flower.
But I believe if you intertwine your fingers through the leaves,
you'll find the keys to your mind's unconscionable things.
I hear the riddle as my mind hums the lyrics,
saying encouragement is not a theory but its a question.
Generosity must of thought I was slick,
cause it slammed its fist in my ribs like it was a brick.
I figured that was the kindness that the love of my brain showed me,
it's vale odor left me render in symptoms that a doctor couldn't diagnose.
Because life is a mystery and I'm anonymous to its reasons.