Lucid Dreaming on a Tuesday,
enveloping my consciousness like a letter you never meant to send.
My window seat bed, toasted by the sun
My body is frozen, in the depths of an ocean of synapses
Firing, like a bullet from the civil war.
Evacuate the south, I am suffocating in an oxygen of regret.
A raven flying in a V of geese,
Forced into migration by disorder of priorities.
Living for today is tantalizing until you awake in the abyss of tomorrow,
The story book of life, a chapter of yesterdays.
Nostalgia encompasses the future, make sweet the heavy
Like jelly on a biscuit.
What have I been starving myself for anyway?