Gut feelings

The sun is bright everything's alright, yet something's in the air
A sense of gloom, impending doom, all I can do is sit and stare
To be formal everything's quite normal, can't put my finger on a thing
But I can't help but feel something unreal that the future will bring

A sense of dread fills my head, I sit on sharp pins
A dead sensation fills creation even though spring has taken my sins
Prescience, precognition, a feeling, recognition, something is out of place
Something bent, a pressure with no vent, a black hole without grace

Buried deep where I can keep it out of view
Garbage smells and a tale tells of an odor one can't subdue
Things from the past layers amassed raise from the grave
A haunting ghost, a whipping post for thoughts I forgave