I must confess
I didn't sleep well last night
What with whirlpool cogitations
And poignant stirs
Slumber eludes me
Blunts that fresh, beautiful smell
Of the glories of mourning
I have never felt so lost before. Like my life needs so much fixing. The imagery that delivers my life are, for the better part of it, morose. Scrambled magazines strewn across my room. Unused pens and empty notebooks by my pillow. Blue aliens getting off my planet.
I listen to nostalgic songs that trigger more innocent times. Like, you only tell me you love me when you're drunk.
Burn my brain out just for a little more. And with these ardent flames, we bring the darkest simplicities alight.
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