You will read this poem, and as you read it you'll wonder why is that the first line of this, how bizarre and unintriguing.
You will feel the emotions I felt as I put these words into motion.
You won't care.
It'll touch you for a slight second and take you back with a rush of nostalgia.
You will forget this.
My words full of feeling and most likely eloquence will fade your mind like a dying butterfly,
that just flew by,
right before your eyes.
(You weren't aware of the fact it was dying, of course.)
I should say these are all ghost words, with demons attached to them; for the things that inspired these thoughts are impacted
memories
formed by travelling people who attached themselves to little pieces of my mind.
I thought as I wrote this,
my soul is staining the paper,
for it often feels as though it is bleeding and I would say every writer feels this way.
I would hope so.
A sinking boat, over boarded with water.
A flooded river, full of life, not knowing how to deal with all of it's responsibility.
A loud room, around a small human with a sensory overload.
Each word is a brick on top of a flower.
This is as heavy as this silly poem will get.