Euphoria has a habit,
Of making me,
Restless, jumpy,
But not in the same way,
The paranoia does,
This time,
I'm filled with something,
Lighter than air,
I'm to awake,
Too alive,
To sleep,
Gravity cannot hold me,
In my chair,
Or keep my feet,
On the ground,
And my mind,
From the clouds,
The rarest thing of all:
A smile, a laugh,
That for once,
Is utterly genuine,
Not feigned in the least,
Because I'm beyond,
Euphoria
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 11:22 AM UTC
Euphoria has a habit,
Of making me,
Restless, jumpy,
But not in the same way,
The paranoia does,
This time,
I'm filled with something,
Lighter than air,
I'm to awake,
Too alive,
To sleep,
Gravity cannot hold me,
In my chair,
Or keep my feet,
On the ground,
And my mind,
From the clouds,
The rarest thing of all:
A smile, a laugh,
That for once,
Is utterly genuine,
Not feigned in the least,
Because I'm beyond,
Euphoria
©Nicola-Isobel H. 24.01.2011
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