Author Information
Stress
Tickling trickles down your forehead...
They amplify the snowy static
This tension has never been so physical
I've swallowed all of the faults that don’t make the picture more beautiful
Like capsules of white out and each belch reminds me of it
When does logic cross purpose?
Like a street without a sign, you can only find lost
How can I agree, argue, consult, or admire
Such a different creature
Maybe this stress, this stimulation
It’s the world expiring through my cracked window
It’s an earthquake only under my feet
Its rain without clouds
If the world doesn’t exists as it’s perceived
It just exists
And we’re all crazy
