These streams of water are displaced,
A river that flows, knows no direction.
Unaware of it’s state, it pours as if my brain is a cloud and the more pain I taste, the more it rains.
My breath becomes shallow, my heart hollow, I skip over oxygen, drowning in my own disaster.
The pen shakes as I am lost in definition of these earthly concepts. However, my fingers as if of their own consciousness, copies and paste.
I say unto it, “will you continue to write my dying words, when the love you’ve given me, would be lost in return?”