My Poetry I guess

The silence of the mindless speaks louder than the psychology of the mind. The movement is less fluent than the rhyme. The only thing speaking is the looks in our eyes. The realist thing ever is the reality of the head. The only people who at rest are the same ones who are dead. The only truth I've ever heard is all of life's a lie. The only thing I trust is what I see with my own eyes. And of course there's days I hate the thought that go inside my dome cause they convince me I'm alone and I just say I'm in my zone. I'm like the suburbs Al Capone but with the mind of Corleone. My mental racing like the streets each and every day I blink I see the haze I see the beach I see the light I drink the bleach I never sleep I close my eyes I feel it going thru my mind I hate the pain I hate the guilt I lay with satin, feel like silk. I see my blessing in disguise as family members who have died cause they showed me I'm immortal and they taught me not to quarrel. Cause life itself is just a gift and all my life was full of shit but I sift thru it, find the gold and when I'm rich I'll still stay home.