The teacher's busy teaching,
Whereas my mind is full.
Oh my, I've got millions of ideas,
Can't control a pencil's pull...
Because I ain’t taking notes and my sheet’s empty
And to doodle, many ideas tempt me.
Ideas? I have plenty
But minutes, Not many.
I have loads of space but not a pencil case,
Umm… that, I can borrow from a mate.
I’ll try drawing a party although I have no social trait.
Or probably myself reading my favorite comic Big Nate.
How about me eating spaghetti?
As fall from the heavens confetti.
My mind drifts off,
As all I can think about is Ferrari spin-offs.
Wait… what? Was that the bell?
God save me, I have no excuse to tell!
The mind is a misuse of reflections,
we gaze upon the maddening of our
life and make order from a doddle
"A tree barks, still no one hears it?
We have the wisdom of moments,
but are we still infants in the scheme
of our growth. Are we still crawling,
but the illusion of us standing gently wilts.
"Freedom is a leash, getting tighter everyday,
Sleep is the illusion of time, for we wake
reliving the same day, but envision it as new.
Time is non-existent, were just a tape replaying
different moments till its overplayed then just ceases.
Last night I dreamt that Google
was celebrating me
through one of its doodles.
It was the simplest of them all,
the most ordinary and vanilla -
common as a rock, low-pitched with a cherry on top.
You clicked on it and it didn't have any answers.
It showed nothing.
No sound was added,
no funky animations,
Corny and simple.
I think they did a pretty good job in celebrating me.
How many times
Can I draw on my arms
To prevent me
From hurting myself?
I've found new ways
To induce pain.
I drink too much.
I search for love in others
Who want nothing to do with me.
These black lines
Along my forearms
Do not shield me from pain
Like I wished they would.
They only mask
A twist of a knot,
inside your skull.
a thought, a feeling.
Not to speak.
Such is the spirit of
the will of the weak.
Dream of an act,
or piston strong words.
Always fertile, never born.
Your struggle is yearning.
Doubt has a habit of
keeping you turning.
In a tryst of not,
A Restless dance.
In unending motion,
any action is studied Askance.