Seeking, seeking solace that so many thoughts consume
Writing, writing, waiting for old rhythms to return
Holding, holding hope that not every thought will burn
It surely seems to me
You live in another realm
(Telepathically sending packets of yourself)
That are sure to overwhelm
Thoughts clearly come to you
In a manner apparently strange
Aliens would have a field-day
Dissecting your beautiful brain
On the busiest of busy days
A thought like this still emerges
Causing interdimensional rifts
Within powerful emotional surges
It's weird but on days like these
I begin to move backward
I retreat to maintain what whelms
And become socially awkward
Shaping, shaping sentences out of pieces of ideal words
Laughing, laughing locally at such an over-dramatic nerd
Doubting, doubting defiantly that I won't habitually hesitate
Believing, believing beautiful things will come to those who wait
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