Who says words with my mouth?
Who looks out with my eyes? What is
The soul? I cannot stop asking.
If i could taste one sip of an answer
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn’t come here of my own accord,
And i can’t leave that way.
Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.
This poetry. I never know what I’m going to say.
I don’t plan it.
When I’m outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.