I am but a rose
Or a dandelion
Or a tree.
Or a ****, perhaps.
Or a brain that thinks.
I’m a river or a tree
It could be you,
it could be me.
Don’t think,
don’t speak,
Just feel, I tell myself.
So I’m the wind and some other crazy poetic metaphor or simile.
My mind is full of abstract words and tunnels-slash-
flowings things that can’t make sense-slash-
all the things a mind will spin in a fragile casing-slash-
a destruction of words that cannot be prohibited-slash-
So I don’t want to think.
Yeah, I’ll go with that.
But pardon my lack of busta rhymes
and feelin’ the rhythm.
Apathy is a gravity my mouth has learned to find.
A slow crawling, rhythm stalling,
asphexiating breath.
Thus my words have been forestalled.
Goodbye.