It's scary,
The way I feel things,
Not to you but to me,
It's actually about me,
As I fade out to sleep,
As I become stuck,
When I struggle to wake,
From thick wanderlust.
When I can't hear the song anymore,
When I can't any longer get up,
When I can't move anymore,
When I get so detached,
The world's forgotten me,
Paralyzed at the window,
While the beach is hot and sandy,
And the road is long and dark
And stretches on forever;
For me however,
The road is long and straight
And goes nowhere,
When will is not enough.
If I am stuck please help me,
If I am stuck please help me,
If I get stuck, please help me,
Please help me, please help me,
Please help me when I get stuck,
Please help me up,
Help me up, please,
Please,
If I am stuck,
And I am stuck,
Please let me go,
Let me get up.
If it spins me,
If the world tilts,
Us into oblivion,
If all my blood's,
Metals rust,
Exposed to air,
As I feel,
That I'm exposed,
Oxidizing to become one,
Exquisite corpse.
"I put some wings in the oven,"
The light comes in through the windows,
I like the paper blinds,
For reminding me of summer light.
I used to remember,
The help of a friend,
The world wants me out there—
To the pavement,
I can step—
Shoes to the surface,
As a means to reconnect,
With the winds,
I must be gone now,
Like sweet pollen-stuff.
YOU ARE READING
Reader's Notes
PoetryA growing collection of prose, old and new, from the teenage years: stories, passing thoughts, poetry. Mental imagery and dialogues straight from thoughts to text. Feel free to leave a comment with feedback or pointing out a small mistake somewhere...
