I do not know why I'm writing now
But the words run off the screen in a blur
the voices, disturbed
silence for a moment as I own them and make them immortal
a portal, these words are my version of an excursion through my psyche
I'm a bit dizzy, mind busy, my eyes dilating
as my lungs are deflating and filling with rain
the thunder is in my brain and the flowers that grow up
we're all insane, it's a shame
thoughts of somewhere else, in a book somewhere on a dusty shelf
that we visit from time to time to remind us of who we were.
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 2:08 AM UTC
I do not know why I'm writing now
But the words run off the screen in a blur
the voices, disturbed
silence for a moment as I own them and make them immortal
a portal, these words are my version of an excursion through my psyche
I'm a bit dizzy, mind busy, my eyes dilating
as my lungs are deflating and filling with rain
the thunder is in my brain and the flowers that grow up
we're all insane, it's a shame
thoughts of somewhere else, in a book somewhere on a dusty shelf
that we visit from time to time to remind us of who we were.
