שירים ואיברים

My heart is a pin cushion

My brain is attacking in ways that I can't defend myself.
From the ones I love. From the ones I am near.
From the ones that were once near and thought I still care.
My voice is a mess.
I confess that a bless is as real as fog, from the deeps of my pin cushion.
If I sink to myself the pins manage deeper and it's so hard to see the bit of wrinkled red hat is left.
When I do things for others my heart grows with meaning,
meaning the wounds are stretched. So I suffer in silence.
Is it me behind it all or a functional purpose.
I am to busy containing the pain while my actions continue.
Plus the pins might react, fly out and stake the ones that are closest to my heart.
Perhaps surgery will aid. Perhaps a change of heart, or mind, or sight.
For now let me sleep and saute my pin cushion.
Good bye and good night.