Phony imposters. Identity crisis, the order of thieves.
With clear lenses, I’m intently watching them, foraging around town for my blind spot. Funny.
Those incandescent flickering folly tubes.
There’s an impossible layer of a riddle to the vault of my secrets.
There are broken mirrors refracting puzzling reflections of wounds spilling artistic pain & eccentricity.
An unintelligible description of my character traits is the most vocal divulgence, with indistinct chatter of frequencies of thought.
This is me piecing a conundrum of mirrors, blinding you in a vain glory pursuit of foraying into my proximity for a blind spot.
Live like a Mystery my friend, 'cause I am.
The Classy Conundrum
//poetry
Everyone dawns a blind spot
The mercurial flippant hat of confusion strikes,
Chalice of vulnerability, they seek an opening,
Lay down your guarded glass, thief laces & spikes.
A gallant steed gallops ahead,
With eyes fore and behind his head,
Always stupefying the jump scare,
Caught perturbed surpriser by surprise, knife by his bed.
Discretionary in his sway he hovers,
Under no duress or dogma he cowers,
Obliterating thorns by the second,
Razor stem severed, blooming deceptive flowers.
Tit for tat with the pretentious backstabbers,
Paranoid fragile crumbling cakes,
Moment of mystery, incarcerated by a camera flash,
They’re profusely crumbling at my home ground - “High Stakes”.
Fourfold overlapping thunderbolt,
Lightning supernova of autonomous free will,
An enamoring striking bolt of an enigma,
An incendiary, that boisterously blazing Wordsmith’s quill.
