I'm writing to cure the anxious spirit
that fatigues the unstoppable thinking of the worried mind.
Strings of hair fall with the pulling of each thought.
Nails cut through skin like peeling oranges.
Without you, I feel desperate, vulnerable.
People's ignorance stops me from smelling your garden perfume.
Your purple hair is weaken by my rusty hands.
Every moment I swallow your omnipresent breath,
my lungs cry for more, leaving my mind in a fourth dimension.
New waves cover the sounds and become printed by inspirational shower of rain falling ideas.
Yet again the hunger boils your beauty with incredible ease.