Where my Certainty Lies

We are never really much of the people that we would like to think we are, but more often than not we find our hearts in our fears because of the comfort they have for they are

ours, and ours alone.

And I have spent hours alone

with them and all of my tiny vexations about the world and though they scare me they still carry with them a forever sort of home.

Should i ever think of my fears without certainty i will never again be able to think of myself without doubt.

It is the haunting in the walls that allow me to sleep safe and sound.

it's the monsters who tuck me in at night and turn the lights out

How do you explain to someone else how you think?

Because i don't even know how i think i just do and most of my thoughts don't seem worthwhile to repeat.

when i say i'm thinking about nothing i'm usually just lying because no one wants to hear about what i was imagining

Most of my thoughts are incoherent and racing and there's no logical transition from one to the next.

So if someone could read minds i'd let them read mine because i know i'm the only one who understands each nonsensical step

When i close my eyes i cannot picture my own face

and that just seems so strange

Because i do not think of myself as my reflection or my body or even my ways

What i picture is an abstract swirl of colors of small memories which are really the cause to the effect that is me

So no one can ever really know me as i do because they can only understand whatever i choose to speak

and even if i told someone everything i thought that there was to say i'd still forget to add the colors that even to me have faded away only existing in the outlines of stains

It is as if my mind has created its own language that cannot be read but only understood

And there are things amongst this world that so quickly can close me like a book

With each page somehow melting to each other page i can become a wooden brick

There is something in me that swears it can feel colors

I can be the roughness of my own surface in each place that concaves

that these english words don't do justice to convey

i have spent so much of my time relentlessly questioning myself

that i feel like if i found answers i would become someone else

the curiosity and frustration are so much a part of me

that if i ever reached a conclusion i would disappear completely

but if all this self interrogation is bound to amount to nothing

then what is the point in ever looking for something?

and if my inquiries ever came to an ending

wouldn't the me i know today, just like before start disassembling?

so my fate is tied to a circle where i wish it to be a line

in a world where i can only be certain of my fears and not my mind