You astound people with your libraries of knowledge.
My poems had sweet intent but were ill-crafted.

Undeniably focused, beautifully crafted.
This feeling of dreadful moments and impossible goals would soon be here again. 

And then my world started again. 
I sink through the gym floor and start to swim beneath it.

The wood above sways with the ceiling; what becomes of it?
She talked a little more than a mile a minute.

Your cigarette ash made dirt art and cleaning minute.
Use the ashtray.

We both stared back at the ashtray.
You would astound me with your libraries of knowledge.