On one side I wish to be a writer,
to get drunk and
see what words an altered state would say
about the world,shoes and the creepy neighbor.
One side craves the bright lights and city lust
whilst abstinence tempts my words.
the color of paint goes
from
red
to blue
to purple
like the veins on my spidery arm while i try to sing in tune.
My church has stained tear windows
and a backyard priest foaming about ideas
of the world and physics.
The barefoot shaman battles with the
practically depressed artist draped in stained denim.
The insecurity of what and who to feel and be
is eating my existence whole
while i drink skinny green tea hoping to feel something.
I am not taken seriously because my maths sums are never correct
and i forget to punctuate my sentences
i am falling but rising.
i am just trying to exist.
Very cool! To me far easier to understand than the previously one. I like it very much. :)
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