Pay no mind to the aberrations I create.
Only know that I do this because I'm haunted if I don't.
When every person is busy spinning, weaving, and climbing their webs,
I effort to make orderly little formations with the thoughts in my head.
Pithy observances,
So full of excitement and dread,
That I will readily drop once boredom arrives.
Mad little perceptions and curious inspirations.
All-colored threads, they weave through our lives.
I honestly don't know what I'm confined to do.
I can no longer pretend there is a moment coming,
A moment when I will come to know everything.
Everything there is to know about oneself.
I am constant and I am formless,
I am floating and I am fluid,
I am sinew and plasma.
I am translatable only by your tongue,
And I mean nothing for that which I meant.
Bouts of fiction against truth can only be told when they violently collide.
I do not censor my thoughts,
So I must not censor the way they find breath every morning.
The seedlings and the Master made a deal before time began.
You must grow the way you were designed, or forever be damned.
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