This room of mine; temporarily,
ephemerally inhabited with my presence,
mingled with the shadows of chai, whiskey, and cinnamon,
in the clutter of my discordance.
A dimly lit chandelier embraces the darkness dancing along the windows absent of moonlight.
Rivers of cold spirits and hot tea flow into images of paths taken and not,
cigarette smoke billows into shifting semblances of possible futures..
and my eyes close to hear the whispers of my mind,
(Telling me to build something)
and my eyes close to listen to the desires of my heart,
(Yelling at me to run away far from here)
And my eyes close, unsure if I want them to open again,
(Knowing that if you were here, I would know where to go).
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 4:03 AM UTC
This room of mine; temporarily,
ephemerally inhabited with my presence,
mingled with the shadows of chai, whiskey, and cinnamon,
in the clutter of my discordance.
A dimly lit chandelier embraces the darkness dancing along the windows absent of moonlight.
Rivers of cold spirits and hot tea flow into images of paths taken and not,
cigarette smoke billows into shifting semblances of possible futures..
and my eyes close to hear the whispers of my mind,
(Telling me to build something)
and my eyes close to listen to the desires of my heart,
(Yelling at me to run away far from here)
And my eyes close, unsure if I want them to open again,
(Knowing that if you were here, I would know where to go).
