We cant stay inside for much longer. The barriers won't unfold and I fear, knowing they are struggling to come down again. A sentimental chemical once told me that consistency is far better than a crumble. It's far better than any momentary escapes.
To be the Emin of words, that pathetic ache in writing instead of
tapestry and colour. I want to be involved and less brutal to my own
piece of mind. I want to turn the switch off. All there is to wonder now
is if the switch will lead to light or fast thunder.
Quick, the grey emerges through my tangy night cap and these heavy skies. I am
sick. These words are surely not passion but thick cobwebs keeping me in
a lonely place. I see them dancing through trees at night as I walk
home alone and think what it would be like to stay outside. The cold frosted nights could be a vast alternative I need to put me in my place.
Right now I feel like a greedy one with so much gumption yet aside a
cliff to hang it over. All I think is crackers and who the hell are
you.
I solely feel like an ugly question mark who wants to scribble on
her face.
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