Why ask me of the future, that unknown thing?
Nebulous abyss of dreams and crackled gramophone thoughts
But no whisper in the light burning through the patchy curtains.
Wooden desk, business shoes; both unpolished
like my answers.
How is it I know what I want but can’t describe it?
Ask me why I breathe.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
Why ask me of the future, that unknown thing?
Nebulous abyss of dreams and crackled gramophone thoughts
But no whisper in the light burning through the patchy curtains.
Wooden desk, business shoes; both unpolished
like my answers.
How is it I know what I want but can’t describe it?
Ask me why I breathe.