ideas flowing from gray matter
I can feel it, pulsing-wanting to be let out
How can I? When I can barely write what I think onto paper
from mind to pen pen to paper connections lost
I wish it otherwise, let it fly
Change pens, I have tried
Change books I have tried
Type on slow keyboards, watch as my fingers fumble
what instrument conducts the mind
better than a pen?
Washed in green paint,
Four hills rising from below,
Stroked in indigo paint,
Blotches of blue,
Bits of accidents,
Painted on its surface,
The brush is unsteady,
Each stroke careful,
With each it becomes worse,
The product of too much tampering.
Blank yellow haze chased the blue skies away
Stick your head out the window.
What do you see?
Gleaming towers far away?
Towering green trees?
Or just a blanket of yellow haze,
That hangs lower when the heat comes,
Suffocating everything in smoke,
Beijing was bad,
Now its here in Vancouver,
Chasing the blue to Paradise
Fires burning, no joke.
Don’t smoke in trails.
Please prevent fires,
Hundreds are displaced.
With the terrors of West Nile Virus,
Malaria, Tick fuelled terror,
I think a mosquito bite is fairly deadly,
Little red bumps that don’t itch,
But I scratch at them,
Then they swell into horrors,
The size of toes,
Horribly red, and so annoying,
Yet I scratch and make them worse,
Four on my leg, one in the crook of my elbow,
Come on, I only wore dark pants!
Being bitten by a bug,
How could I go like this?
I just want to say that I’m going to be here for awhile,
Just a random person,
On the internet,
Spouting random things,
On the top of this mind,
Just warning you.
Run away if you want,
but enjoy your life.
I never thought I would find it,
Thick blue tube,
Thin white text,
A peppermint white paste,
That doesn’t foam,
Liquidy like oil,
Tastes like mint,
Yet, dangerous as well,
I think it’s safe,
Thought it tastes so dangerous,
I’m now afraid of using more.
-For those who live in cruel cycles, step upon step-
There are traces of feet,
Ditches made in the golden sand,
Curves from the sides,
Flattened sand, these feet have walked upon,
And we follow them,
Through history, through eras,
We have followed those before us,
Relinquishing the strongholds,
Of the wars past,
We have stepped, left steps, gave steps and took steps,
But, we never dream of those who walk the same burdened path,
Day after day after day,
Stuck in the same cycle,
Walking the same steps,
Through the steps of their ancestors,
Their pain is lost,
To the cycle,
Until renewed by the footsteps of their children.