Time for some sort of shift in the atmosphere of me
wasting big words on an unimpressionable mind
rich in vacancy and detailed to a fault
I love you, I love you just not enough.
Transpiration through what seems to be an ending
tied to a chair or involuntarily moving?
If I look away nothing could possibly exist behind me
(seldom have I remembered the balance of continuum)
but if I close my eyes there isnt anything my mind can receive
except the memories that are bound to adjust
between what was and what it to be desired.
Precious, laid back I dream like a broken faucet
synapses remixed, inspiration enabled. |
Submission Name: Diligence [in color] and Lies
