"If I am a stranger, now, to you/I will always be"

Every now and again (very rarely) a poem feels as if it's writing itself. There was a small amount of control towards the end, but mostly it felt like I was just holding the pen. It has an odd structure, but I didn't plan it that way. When I finished the second verse I knew the next one needed parentheses. I have a few basic ideas about what it's about, but I'm not sharing. It's written in first person, but very little of it feels like something out of my own head. I'm sharing it because it's such an oddity.

“bad vision”

thing is, i was trying to predict the future

i was trying to force

my desires to take form

no trickery, officer

i’m just really bored

take my luck, i don’t need it

the bluest pair of eyes

only exist for me

the heavens must of gotten tired of bad fortune

it’s raining pennies for me

(i hope i’m not too obvious

i’m really fucking miserable

something is kicking inside my brain

it scares me

i think it might get out)

let’s clink our goddamn glasses

our fears have been reversed

the fog is frittering itself away, now

 i can drink all i can swallow

i’m going to sleep now, i’ll be back tomorrow

(i slunk away

envisioning festering wounds

there are strange ideas inside of me

and even stranger ways of carrying them out

i’m not going to say anything more)