A spill of thoughts brought to you by an incoherent mind:
(my tired, cried-out brain will probably not form any substantial sentences so please pardon my grammar, or everything for that matter)
Soooo, there's a thought trickling down my spine, trickle trickle trickle. Needless to stay it's still there. The cherry blossoms bloom, die out. Fade out, boom. They're back. For now. Clouds fill the sky, followed by thunderous clouds and wisps of lightning striking the atmosphere, however high those volumous, gaseous bodies tower. My mind is a swimming ship, prepared for take off, yet the landing strip is blurred from the storm. Those stitches are to be sewn, mended for all the proper reasons. Trickle trickle trickle. Plump droplets begin to form, and those stitches build to form holes. HOLES, the size of 15 foot tidal waves. Tearing transpires. Down my face, across that fabricated mess. Responsibility is left at hand. We must mend those ruptured seams. Doe a deer, a female dear. These are a few of my favorite things. Pounding thoughts ripple throughout my cranium. Bouncing from side to hollow side like a damn racket ball court. Sorry is simply never the proper response, however, it is necessary. Scratches on the surface now tear into thick, bleeding wounds. No superglue, but stitches. Mending those wounds. Filling the tank. Watching the storm clouds subside for the runway, rising the sail for the wind to grasp. We shall see. Like the dead roses towering in the tin, hovering over the side with their lifeless tint. Strong, yet so lifeless. Like the wind. Sight. Touch. Tear. Mend.
LIKE THE DAMN WIND.
No comments:
Post a Comment