Listen to my words,
For once they speak
Without hearing themselves,
Bound by no self-realized gravity,
Buzzing around my fingertips
Like a moth lost in the
Flickering fire of a forgotten
Candle wick,
Listen to my praise,
As t.......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................this
feels
better,
and i can speak easier here
in the white
empty
everything
of a screen
not cluttered
with scary words
of thoughts i wish
weren't fake
and just typing like this
very small
very..... free
feels so good
just being the pile of leaves
not the spectacle of a fountain is might surround,
false flows of flowery water
tainting my rusting mind
with haphazardly crafted
anecdotes of a reality
too elaborated to be real
...
i can sleep here
with one eye open
to peek at the world i fall through
like observing softly
the dancing sheet of fresh linen
riding the curves of wind, hushing
through windows half ajar
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 3:09 AM UTC
Listen to my words,
For once they speak
Without hearing themselves,
Bound by no self-realized gravity,
Buzzing around my fingertips
Like a moth lost in the
Flickering fire of a forgotten
Candle wick,
Listen to my praise,
As t.......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................this
feels
better,
and i can speak easier here
in the white
empty
everything
of a screen
not cluttered
with scary words
of thoughts i wish
weren't fake
and just typing like this
very small
very..... free
feels so good
just being the pile of leaves
not the spectacle of a fountain is might surround,
false flows of flowery water
tainting my rusting mind
with haphazardly crafted
anecdotes of a reality
too elaborated to be real
...
i can sleep here
with one eye open
to peek at the world i fall through
like observing softly
the dancing sheet of fresh linen
riding the curves of wind, hushing
through windows half ajar
