Take to a place that’s still and your own
Do you know who you are
Open wound, too much in this life
Center disclosed, and empty of splendor
A few words delivered, as seen by the sender
Insight, distortion that invokes an image
All delights punish, a price for the pleasure
What is this curse …to suffer the mind by emotional verse
Feel the view with easy eye; somber reality there’s truth in “in touch”
As though a drug induced haze I’ll think too much

Take to a place that’s still, in my mind
I don’t know who I am
Am I too much in this life
Essence, not exposed in sufficient distinction
Do all delights punish
My sanity suffers for emotional verse
Indulging … though knowing the venom
In a haze-laden state with quiet eye, I’ll mistake reality for what was actually a lie.
The affliction begins, and I think too much
I have found my serenity in losing touch