Confused by the Rhyme

Lost in the moment,
confused by the rhyme,
pondering the statement
while losing track of thyme.
Trying to focus on
the sentences there,
the effort that's like trying
to cover cupboards so bear,
the brain slows down,
jumping around like a toad
as the mind takes off
down its own winding rowed.
The head conjurs up
ridiculousness as it's so proud
wishing the mouth would
say it all allowed,
but the only hope
for the idea's whole
to be heard is to
have it pour from a broken scull
yet that would only
solidify the hopeless feeling
felt within fate's
ultimate and imminent ceiling.