I’m convinced that someone’s hacked into my head
and deleted the part of my brain that controls my concentration.
Because at times, I have the attention span of the goldfish who just downed a bottle of vicodin.
See, my brain is a livewire lined with high-voltage power lines of dreams and ideas,
and I can’t shut off all the switches and relays flooding messages to my nervous system,
because what I have is a nervous system.
Every caustic, worried thought that I’ve ever thought tends to show up there,
and all I ever do is worry about how one wrong word might end a relationship,
or how one right word could start a new friendship,
or how everything that I keep reading into,
is just bleeding into everything else,
mixing colors,
while I’m sitting here…
forgetting to take the time to paint with my passions and prides.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 11:42 AM UTC
I’m convinced that someone’s hacked into my head
and deleted the part of my brain that controls my concentration.
Because at times, I have the attention span of the goldfish who just downed a bottle of vicodin.
See, my brain is a livewire lined with high-voltage power lines of dreams and ideas,
and I can’t shut off all the switches and relays flooding messages to my nervous system,
because what I have is a nervous system.
Every caustic, worried thought that I’ve ever thought tends to show up there,
and all I ever do is worry about how one wrong word might end a relationship,
or how one right word could start a new friendship,
or how everything that I keep reading into,
is just bleeding into everything else,
mixing colors,
while I’m sitting here…
forgetting to take the time to paint with my passions and prides.
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