inner sense.

I've got a million thoughts a minute, this is it I've crossed the finish.

I'm a winner in a sense, my innocence is interfering,

with my inner sense of fearing what is real or just appealing,

who's is here for me for real, and who appears as real but isn't. 

I am too caught in living to devolve in my life. 

Disolve this sinister within, and then get lost as I write.