Noise
The noise in my head is not in my head,
I hate to think, for it's too hard to tell,
My universe dreams while being mislead;
Fighting the waves while these transmissions swell.
Sorting though scabs that this atmosphere sheds,
Studying maps to navigate this hell—
If only the gods were all in their heads,
When putting together my world so well.
The righteous chaos they had to imbed;
The frustrated faith they had to dispel—
Curse all the toxic terrain that I tread!
Someday I will break from this ragged shell!
For now I must slither like wretched thread,
Winding through the spades of braids laid ahead.
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