Pop

sometimes i go here, and sometimes in my head
sometimes i sweat through the sheets
that cover over my decapitated head
often i jump to conclusions,
that have no validity except for the
conclusions i hop to in my head
in my head
in
my
head
in here,
as well as you should know,
nothing is ever as plain or plaid as it seems,
there is no pattern,
no sense of well being
daily
yes daily it's a constant struggle
but not in a bad way
i like to stack rocks
it's a thing i do
just like we all have things we do, to make some sense
or pennies,
however you see it
rattle, and tap, rattle at my bedroom window
tap your fingers against the glass
i can believe it