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Rough time writing anything tonight.
Folder:
Bad poetry I’ve never been able to yell very loudly. I cannot
paint a picture. Sometimes poetry is like beer
shining in an indoor light and murky in the middle, no one really understands
what we’re still doing here together. I have had so many bottles
fed to whatever fires there are inside
I imagine them as flickering timber. What are we doing here
in this tiny apartment? I have so many words
to throw in the ocean. One day maybe we will all still swim together
in something besides these chemicals again
all pink and thoughtful
with full lungs.
paint a picture
great piece,
paints a very colorful picture in my head believe it or not:)
kind of dark and bright all at the same time. maybe two dark shapes consuming something bright.
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