Scary, Is Writing Poem by Dylan Rivera

Suffocated by these notions of thought.
Words.
Seeking unchained hands,
it abandons all ransom inquiries.
Controls my being and walks towards facile skies.
Sunsets of grey, clears any haziness of yellow
that only care to belong.
Because there isn't any room for daisy like colors.
I document my existence and these tangents imprint their tattoos.
Censoring is always prevalent.
For you never know if Mary is watching.
So pure, and fictional,
my thoughts look to emulate her.
But so harsh and actual,
my thoughts are nothing like her.