deepundergroundpoetry.com
Saturation point.
Just another drip, it cant hurt.
Tickertape sticks to my tongue like Florida snow.
White lace in a summer nights breeze
She talks in circles while twirling her hair.
I cant remember a word.
Release me I beg.
Misguided energy takes a prisoner.
8 hours and 3 moods later I cant remember what i thought made the (perfect) remedy.
Soft.
High above I can see everything, if I share I'm wrong, if I don't im wrong- choose wrong.
Music is color- tempo in the chamber.
Color become the words of the mood.
Each blink my eyes explode but only I see it.
The justice of words are Vaseline glasses, in fog during a blizzard in June.
Brand new day coming
I cant wait - yes i might , ok maybe for sure.
Tickertape sticks to my tongue like Florida snow.
White lace in a summer nights breeze
She talks in circles while twirling her hair.
I cant remember a word.
Release me I beg.
Misguided energy takes a prisoner.
8 hours and 3 moods later I cant remember what i thought made the (perfect) remedy.
Soft.
High above I can see everything, if I share I'm wrong, if I don't im wrong- choose wrong.
Music is color- tempo in the chamber.
Color become the words of the mood.
Each blink my eyes explode but only I see it.
The justice of words are Vaseline glasses, in fog during a blizzard in June.
Brand new day coming
I cant wait - yes i might , ok maybe for sure.
Published 6th Jun 2017
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