I'd like to be able to write again, but the universe is turning too slow in the wrong direction.
My heart drips instead of duh-dums
And my breath slips.
Rhyming sticks to the top of my mouth catching grains of rhythm as I regurgitate yesterday's thoughts.
I haven't been able to write lately, not because I am a bumbling busy body, but because time is frozen, I'm cemented and dissolving into the tasteless air.
Everything is too colourful lately, too... anything for me to understand.
Maybe I should start reading again, go back to painting stale blue skeleton hands with not enough paint.
Maybe that's my problem... There's not enough paint in my life.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 6:10 AM UTC
I'd like to be able to write again, but the universe is turning too slow in the wrong direction.
My heart drips instead of duh-dums
And my breath slips.
Rhyming sticks to the top of my mouth catching grains of rhythm as I regurgitate yesterday's thoughts.
I haven't been able to write lately, not because I am a bumbling busy body, but because time is frozen, I'm cemented and dissolving into the tasteless air.
Everything is too colourful lately, too... anything for me to understand.
Maybe I should start reading again, go back to painting stale blue skeleton hands with not enough paint.
Maybe that's my problem... There's not enough paint in my life.
I don't know, I'm trying... Okay?
