adequate misnomers

i've no words to describe how i'm feeling
i've tried three times to paint the picture of words
there's only strokes by different brushes
and in contradicting genre
i am the sum of parts
but that doesn't quite add up
yet here i sit
whole
it's a strange thing, in an odd place, at the wrong time
that fits quite nicely inside my balding head
father time has passed on
and his will is being carried out
through lack of control i'm beginning to find comfort
i've no doubt that comforting comfort
adds to the decline of my sanity.
but not my reason, or reasons.
i don't understand myself,
and neither do you
i polish parts only to unobstruct the view.