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Concepts turn into what ifs,

Sooner or later they turn into rifts,

Torn by ideas and words.

Torn by the way the earth turns.

Axioms keep the discretion of keep guessing,

But lets not forget the proposition.

The small intellation of focus on this small discription.

Propositions litter the mind,

Propositions change the sights,

Patterns of delegated matters.

Complementalization keeps things stationed.

But this world is truely boundless.

Endless ideas, just beginning quelms.

Fruitful dipictions, dissatisfying trends.

Somewhere in the middle, things just stop to exist.

A bit of nihlism, a bit of absolution.

A bit a skepticalism to stay keen.

A bit of hope for dreams.

Concepts dried, stale like pie.

Sweet in the mind, bitter in the sides.

Concepts stoned, never being less, but gets smaller as time degrades the first press.

Axioms for ever being asked.

Almost turning into a resemblance of regret.

What if, what if.

Propositions changing on cue.

Blossom of change, or a change of shame.

All i know is these are the patterns i carry in my life.