Turn my head into a blob

Enter Gemini moods

Grind the hours hopelessly awaiting for another similar day

It's a visual violence

With white knuckles, we cover our heads

Churn my silhouette inside

Outward-facing vital

Organizing thoughtlessly, enduring for another endless mundane

A harrowing dance with psychic trash

Skin in the game to remain growing faith

In relativistic place, no escape

But to begin finding kin, relation is all we have

Blistered salve makes me laugh when questionеd

Gemini, is that your sign?

Turn my head into a blob

Enter Gеmini mood

Searching for eternally the counterparts who give us reason to stay

Growing faith to regain passing days

In desperate, delicate balances

This lurching pit, churning grit bears its gift

Must seek the twin, giving in to a mood as it turns to Gemini