Like old jigsaw pieces in a box rattle but could make a picture, the convictions in my heart go to battle and some bits get lost. I can't blame nobody else. It's programmed in my cells, and so the pressure swells. Bits and bobs gather dust sat in the cupboard - might come in handy. Like so many of my bold ideas - scuppered, left on the shelf. I visit them at night. The darkness makes them bright, when all my thoughts and feelings mingle and my buzzwords start to jingle as I dream up my plans. But am I heading for salvation? Or my next does of salvation? Who knows? Can I have some time to borrow? Give it back again tomorrow? Or some day later still? I've got a decision and the deadline is close. So stick? Or Twist? Or give up the ghost?
