Something is not right with me.

I can believe I am amazing all I want.
I'll think in clouds and ribbons and lines.
My head will be a show.
Filled with feathers, acrobats, fire.
I'll always paint with glass.
The gorgeous translucent conducted to art.

But
the paintings
are as
breakable
as my
very thoughts.
folding
themselves
into
triangles.
how do i
doi
diiioo
believe
now?