Postcards

These are my postcards.
I'll leave them behind for you.
You'll find them some time after I have gone.
You'll think about how pretentious I am.

I don't truly understand myself.
I find it hard to understand much else.
I'm expected to know everything I dream to be.

These are my postcards.

My thoughts feel upside down.
Not able to smile, or frown.
Only a static, nothing type of sound.
It's hypnotic, in it's own fatal sort of way.

None of this will mean a thing to you.
Ones nothing is all their own.
Still, I'll leave them behind for you.
These are my postcards.