What's really on my mind,
Thoughts are so removed from reality,
They are not even mine,
They are like a playground in a school yard,
You've heard what goes on there,
Meanness and absurdity at recess,
Morbid acts at night one would not dare,
But run those thoughts to the physical realm,
Filtered by your organs,
They have the chance at being translated,
So they do not offend.
Are they the same?
You don't want them to be,
You want the best of you to be expressed,
And hope the worst stays deep in your psyche.
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