Chips Fall in Place

(I just have to keep trying to write)

a million lighted pin-pricks on this
fortress's bloody facade, blaring a thousand
tongues of tarot cards and candy stings
that line the grandoise walls inside.
But here the mist settles on us, immobile.
We try to bleed in the world outside of us,
enrapt in folds of interpertation.
Fortune threads whisper we're beautiful -
the dots of heaven brake on blinding and, heads hung,
we've only spotted reflections on a puzzle piece.

Hehehe... silly, you can write!

Still, this poem seems too short (which is quite something for me to say since I generally like short poems, but I digress...) You do a wonderful job of leading people into the poem until they thoroughly enjoy it and each moment lasts a lifetime. And that's awesome.

But this poem seems to be only a fragment of what you want to say, which makes it seem short. So close your eyes, blast Pink Floyd, and just type! And don't think about it. It's better that way...