I think too long before I speak. My diction is on parole & I yearn for eloquent & perfection is always near 2nd. I can’t help but strive to be [excellent] so do me the honor of pretending you can’t sense my judgment; play this game with me. I exude a poor act like an absence of confidence, my inner monologue is no fan of me either. The voice has disappeared.
Silently it tells me these bad dreams are abandoned children of an illness haunting my genes / I try not to buy in & believe. All those seductive lies are gone, too. They were pretty once. Meanwhile I’ll smile for the camera and twist your umbrella in bad weather. I want to fly away lodged somewhere between whore and Madonna. Peeking through blinders over the neighbors; never said a word. I guess I’m too like my father. We both have switches fatefully placed. Flip them at will.
Can’t bake without a recipe; I bring no pastry that isn’t laced. My heart races even when I rest and I assume around the corner a medical emergency awaits. My doctors assume death embraced or nothing is wrong since I never call… I couldn’t foot the bill either for good health or the marble-colored limousine through the gates of hell at my funeral.
I gave it all I got for certain.