Overanalyzation

I hate overanalyzation



contented space



I trace a line over myself to create



The perfect chalk figure







When the rain falls



it will wash away,



or contort lines,



if the chalk is of such caliber







Make my dream bedroom



on a single sidewalk square



to reveal to the block, my bed was bare



see the blue lines, that is where the light catches the moon







There is a pleated lamp



in a powdery purple and grainy green



those pleats lead to where my ideals become real



somewhere next to my broken sewing machine







And why its broken in my chalky embrace



hemming dresses in a cement space



as the gravel lain it could be drawn



to its broken existence it was able to spawn







The existential crisis of my needle machine



tied to the vibrance in which I lean



the colors are of a represented spine



and caresses the backdrop of my lucid lines







My dresser drawer reach the depths of the Earth



it holds rocks and gems of said worth



fingers touch the orange knob



to open Pandora’s Box in order to rob







As I choose to keep those drawers closed



there are pretty pink roses to intoxicate the nose



a bouquet of ease



a sensual feeling to please







My door is invisible and difficult to find



an image of a glass house come to mind?



the object is to discover and knock



be careful not to disturb the block







Overanalyzation exists in this cement square



jackhammer of precipitation, in which, it can tear



colors of chalk smeared on my chest



to put this overanalyzation to rest