What If?
Pointless and indescribable sincerity
What would be so wrong with entering
I always ask myself:
The chances I�ve taken down this long and exhausting road
�What If? I ask myself.
I stare at the front door of the house full of mirrors
My sincerity is as genuine as a poem
puts me at a loss for continuity
to consummate the game I so ridiculously started
would be a contradiction to my soul.
the house full of mirrors
knowing full well that it had no way out?
What would be so wrong to see every angle of my abstractions
in the hopes of discovering a distant and unforeseen reality?
"What If?"
Continuously ask myself this question until my teeth hurt.
have always been calculated
have always been as predictable as a possum.
�What If I break out of my so-called, self-created boundaries?�
envious of those who are welcome
and never seen again.
my expectations but allusions
that belong to someone else.
