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Rated: 13+ · Other · Other · #1917067
I'm not sure if this is prose or a poem. I wrote a lot of these when I was a lot younger
Systematically taking on days. Vision much clearer through Los Angeles haze. On Hollywood sidewalks, where reality plays. Terrified and screaming in an insanity phase.

Metaphorical blade lingers cold on the skin. There's truly no end to what never begins. What could be the price for the commitment of sins? Committed and acquitted, still flashing those grins.

Mind racing and teeming with sinister notions. Could never be tamed like the waves of the oceans. Concocting a drink, would rather call it a potion. Never moving forward but always in motion.

Long gone beyond recognition. Are there no cures to be found outside of religion? Just lay in a bed, learn to love this condition. Learn to love, that's the mission.

Maybe that's true and has been what is missing. But without any bait there's no point in fishing. The ghosts of smiles, is that what we're dishing? Talked for miles but nobody listening.

Empty words etched in chalk. When it's all said and done I think I'll go for a walk.
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