there's literature hanging in the air right now but i have a stuffed nose and what more can this mouth engulf in a disgusting way.
I had dreams.
Merry should i say but they attach themselves to the literature right now because i have a stuffy nose and can't breathe.
All the passions,
pleasing,
socialization attaches themselves to the literature as it is in the air right now.
Do they all love literature just as much as me
or are they mocking me for the stuffy nose?
because i sure remember smells of those whose enticement ran through my veins and spilled from my finger tips.
They were enchanted by the world yet they all hang in the air now.
Dense air which slowly cripples my eye sight.
Have the air not known of situation i am poised in?
Why would it know?
Its air.
Air.
Air.
Air.
Its so unfair.
I believe the air must be the one who floated the literature up.
Or else why would it be hanging?
That dense air mocks me for having ocean tides on my body,
for the vast difference in our size,
for the way i move slow compared to it and now it holds my
every array of hope.
There's literature hanging in the air now,
Yet the air sickens me
so i think literature loathes to be with me.