lately it's about the space between, the words not said, the silence in situations that drip through my head. the constriction, restriction of being bound to this place, of the same face in the mirror, of the stagnant disgrace.
my enthusiasm paired by an ironic dismay of
quietude
and rants
that are as long as the day
if i told you that my longing
to connect with all of you
was borne out of something real, something grand and something true...
would you roll me in a ball of corn and pop my kernel of hippie-fused dreamtime?
or would it be alright, dear stranger, if this world of heaven hell was neither yours or mine?
this swimming in solitude leaves pride at bay
its swallowing action and cleaving time from the day
a social butterfly and hermit fused into one
always longing for something deeper:
a rocket-ship to the sun
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