rye eeds

i am the subject of suspicion.  my existence is somewhat of a test.  i am the flavor of guilt, with the scent of worry.  tonight i am low on the totem pole, some think i am stoned, when truly i have just finished a cry.  as usual my instinct is to hide, and divide perception into two truths.  i want to move faster, from a mental perspective.  i want to easily forget.  i want to fill in the blanks.  I need to dry my eyes, more left than right.