It's funny how my mind works.
Really.
Sometimes I have to wonder, am I multiple personalities?
I know things.
The truths.
And I see it, understand it.

But I will not listen.
For all the things, there is the mind.
But for me,
there is the heart.

Greater than my senses
my guts my beliefs my rational reasons.
Yes, greater is my heart.
I am a hollow shell for this mysterious organ,
life would cease to exist and I would deminish.
But I do not care for the beating,
only for the flow of blood.

It's funny how my mind works.
Really.
It goes hand in hand with my heart,
but fades into the shadows when faced with emotion.
And it hides in the cowardly dark when the worst appears,
... Love ...

And I stumble, I see.
But my guts my senses my beliefs my rational reasons
are nothing.
My mind is but a memory...
a memory unable to remember.

My heart owns me,
I am it's slave.
There is no
right or wrong
bad or good
sex or lust
true or false
insanity or sanity.

There is only a moment,
a moment held in my heart,
remembered by
love and desire
lust and liason
poet and dreamer.

I am whatever it wants me to be,
weak for reality,
strong for denial.
And I crumble,
but do not fear.

It's funny how my mind works.
Really.
A mere idea overshadowed by my heart.
My heart owns me, it breathes for me,
it is my demise.

My heart ... it falters.