Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2014
I'm not trying to do anything, I'm just sitting and being
all of my thoughts turn to how this
pencil fits perfectly between my teeth

the sight of yellow paint and smell of wood surrounds me

and as I adjust my glasses balancing them precariously on the tip of my nose

my eyes are drawn to the stars

and even blurred

they inspire the perfect word
for the aforementioned pencil to scratch onto paper

before it drops from my fingers onto the gravel tiles
and rolls out of my reach along with my already wandering thoughts

into the infinity of blurred stars
Written by
Please log in to view and add comments on poems