Messing With My Head

Evening calls quick in this
room call it I do a cave.
Where I am in a depression,
I abnormally act behave.

Maybe I’ll burn asunder in
thoughts that blast head.
Maybe I’ll not be a blunder,
but a level head instead.

I see this burning blast flame
meet me here once again.
Play me like a fiddle trace lit
is my flesh is my skin.

I know the cave is my home
and all is not well.
Once I called her queen now
maybe she is my hell.

Take me to terms in a whim
maybe I will love.
She is a flower she springs a
spring up high above.

For now I’ll burn here alone
in this crackle brisk
as my love is ill I feel saddened;
my head is still adrift.

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