unkempt choices

This night has no sleep for me

And the bank of my dreams appears empty,

So I turn to a white paper

The blank page refuses my ink,

So I look for words to be read.

The syllables carry frenzied look for me,

So I fill the colors for my canvas.

The brushes become brittle in my hand.

So I switch to a new television box.

The visual dances are alien for me.

So I lit a cigarette and play my guitar.

The strings shiver and shrill at me.

So I look at the moon and admire the stars

This darkness invades my endeavor again.

And thus I allow the mirror to reflect my scars.

which echoes the chaos of unkempt choices
again and again.

Tweet