Thoughts bypass the conscious highway and flow into my bloodstream.
Spilling into my fingertips, while muscle memory deciphers the nonsense.
My pen leaks it's refined ink, permeating the recycled forest.
Evidence of my internal workings lay naked in bold scribblings.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 5:46 PM UTC
Thoughts bypass the conscious highway and flow into my bloodstream.
Spilling into my fingertips, while muscle memory deciphers the nonsense.
My pen leaks it's refined ink, permeating the recycled forest.
Evidence of my internal workings lay naked in bold scribblings.
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