Restraint by a shaft of evidence.
Not conclusive to ideals.
A melancholy orange…peeled.
Is it vanity that brings me here?
For every indulgence that tells me, no.
For all the voices that fill an empty village and clutter the soul.
In the belly below a need arises from reflective window.
Such visions of clarity when I ‘cannot see myself as others do.’
Just snippets of what I used to do.
Sketched among the floundering breeze.
Simple recollections not made to appease.