Roundabout

I am beginning to disbelieve as shoes blaze loud in waves of dread, when always before they were new and unblemished flowers were reticent red tea was the paragon and we? we were the answer to each brand new morning, birds on the window sill swinging off key, coffee waiting for that first tasty rip upside down from our great morning stride, all was well and now? twisted words folded twice in drawn out delays washed up seams of beautiful dreams, stripped and strewn out there, bare. lying eyes with their backbiting stare skin hating shades on skeletal frames and I'm flailing too fast to remain upright steadfast on the right track past the sleeve of the next dishonorable intention