My hand didn't want to awaken those abjections
but the ink wondered aimlessly on the paper.
Sullen episodes were like a cloud on the page.
Mists of what was like heavy dew on my
mind, thoughts drooped uncontrollably.
Then they conceded under strain descending.
Ink was abstract as I never understood why
I felt this incosectant need to cry every thought
on paper. My reflection is not what I feel inside.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 9:17 AM UTC
My hand didn't want to awaken those abjections
but the ink wondered aimlessly on the paper.
Sullen episodes were like a cloud on the page.
Mists of what was like heavy dew on my
mind, thoughts drooped uncontrollably.
Then they conceded under strain descending.
Ink was abstract as I never understood why
I felt this incosectant need to cry every thought
on paper. My reflection is not what I feel inside.
