Mar 2020
I’m sitting in a nowhere,
No life, no sense of flair.
Life bustles all around,
But it’s all a monotone mound,
There’s no variation to be found.
New places,
New spaces,
And new paces
Is the basis
For a mind in stasis.
So i might stop this mope,
And put a wayward hope
Into a little elope.
No life, no sense of flair.
Life bustles all around,
But it’s all a monotone mound,
There’s no variation to be found.
New places,
New spaces,
And new paces
Is the basis
For a mind in stasis.
So i might stop this mope,
And put a wayward hope
Into a little elope.
Maybe I need to travel. I conformed my desires into this rhyme, and I mean it when I said conformed. It’s another forced poem.
