Shifting Weight

When my soul shifts its weight

Chips fall out

And mistaken words with misplaced meanings

Find themselves naked

In front of your roving eyes

Or maybe I misunderstand your understanding

As I stand under the drizzle

Or a tsunami of your questions

"Your burden of proof is ready to be served."

You wrung my words too hard

And now they bleed

Into the empty bedside

And a naughty striptease

Yes, I'd have extra cheese with that, please

A thought-criminal too, needs to eat

To craft words and meanings 

And words without meanings

Countless hours worth of nostalgic screening

And as the director, I yell "CUT!'