Tortured Inversion

when the manner of exchange is something other than anticipated greater than predicted smaller than projected having nothing to do with truth how can that be? living in a world of our own design flying blind as similiar orbits blow through maybe it's better this way is mental illness simply believing you are genius when others realize it's anything but yet, say nothing smiling without song quiet denials, decades long when did the latter days blend splashing over blind blunders in that distant place long gone and still, we remember or at least, we think we do promises made laughter shared with the hope of more, whispers spared when the sun froze...