There’s a static in my mailbox,
A glaze upon the sky.
A beat to my staccato footsteps,
A swagger in my spine.

There’s a nest atop my halo;
An odd springtime eclipse.
A wintrous moon denying me
The chance of light from it.

There’s a virus on my pillow,
Where chivalry resides.
Exhausted from this daily race,
Inhaling biocides.

There’s a harness on my shoulders,
There’s a mountain in my sights.
But there’s a crevice etched in front of me,
By the deviance of life.

There’s a magnified illusion
Borderlining sanity.
And before curtains coagulate
I'll memorize each piece.

A glass of wine upon my senses,
Combined with brisk lucidity.
"There’s no hope, doctor, we've lost him",
There’s a mind inside of me...
 
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