The glass room
Reflects my myriad, chiseled thoughts.
They strike upon my head
Rain down
A cold
Calm
Breeze.
This vast variety
Swamped by the ocean
Floods
Through the crevice of my eyes.
Drowning amidst my future possibilities,
Another thought echoes,
They are here to be realized
As I exalt outside
Of a balloon of sorrow.
I should spill
From my head,
Line up the doors
Reflect,
Muse,
Ponder,
And walk though whichever one.