I syringe the essence from my imaginings
from depleted veins, the voidness of the white
concedes to the lobotomy of a manuscript
that hold no weight in the pool of my mind

A rhapsody serenades the dying breath of
faded delusions, a masterpiece of blind syllables
are never hitting the pool that they were thrown upon.
My words are a pool of breath that's evaporating.

I lingered in a abyss of charcoal motions,
everything versed parched, unrecognised
within the visuals of others contemplation.
But then I lingered on an image within my view.

*"Creation is just a moment captured in a sight versed,