I sit with myself,I have conversations with myself,I berate myself,I commend myself. I think of times past,I ponder upon laughs shared,I muse about arguments forgiven,I simper at those forgotten. I concede my wrongdoings,I forgive yours.I wonder how?I wonder why? I fail to fathom why,My conception loathes to accept,To accept the candor that is.The candor that it is finished. Again, I berate myself.Again I commend myself.Moreover, I confuse the device of thought.Worse, that which pumps sanguine,It beats to the rhythm of a rock lullaby, O! How I long to smile yet again,How I long to watch the reflection of self.Yes, in those pools of brown that pizzazz me times and again Is it time to run along?Should I lay in wait?Must I culminate all feeling?I know not.I feel a lot.
