Peeled eyes, clumsy hands stubborn heart, late at night can’t think right, so I write Confusion and fear over a million years that seem not enough for a cluttered mind to clear I sought comfort, a sign in cheesy inspo lines just because they rhymed but answers I can’t find Mind gamers like to play when you’re at your worst when your highs are low when vulnerability shows Ignoring the ache I stay convinced I’ll be okay ’cause I’m hopeless and it’s senseless and I’ve wondered why hasn’t this soft spot hardened? How many times do the mind games need to be pardoned?