Second Guess

The two tiny voices in the back of your head
Whispering their unverbalized advises,
Thus, first and second thoughts
They bring them in once-off packs.
They are the chefs of your decisions,
Their food is never well-cooked.

Their tiny pair of wings never stop flapping,
Buzzing like those of a hummingbird,
Thus the distorted messages.
They serve several dishes,
The brain’s taste bud is riled,
Thus, the sets of guesses.

They are the night and the light
Both running simultaneously.
Day and dusk in the same bowl
So we sleepwalk.
There are no second guesses
Just feasting on meals served by opposing chefs

Thomas Tee2emm Bot