Trust in Her

The drama that comes with this has no depth to its enamor. 

It is simply a play of mind - duplicity. 

Separate the fat.

Strain what does not keep me clear and concentrated. 

Sometimes the filter fades

and what’s good and bad morph together,

black and white melt into make grey. 

What happens when grey takes over? 

I’m tricked by the fog to think that

it had been viscous enough to take a step forward on. 

Microscopic scans tell me that

my mind has replaced sugar to salt in mischievous moments. 

I don't blame what’s happened,

even the second that just passed. 

The hedonistic plays of my missteps

lay out in my head as building blocks, 

stacked to make a majestic realm of my diversions. 

Diversions that became the correct path

maybe an inch off,

but always recalibrated by the present.

When I trust her, she takes care of me.