They're always mine when I need to see them
A point in time where I lack my freedom
Enters quickly into my conscience
Never leaves even with some maintenance
I've been stuck in the middle
Of a dubious puzzle
I can't tell where to go now
This all seems to little
What is real is present, misleading
Always warped by senses, a secret
But am I so different
Then the ones that see it
Colors washed over numbers
Smelling sounds of the summer
Lexical observations
Forcing some complications
