All my brain is made up of noise.
It's like a TV screen that can't find the right channel;
fuzzy, numbing, and stuck on that same grey screen.
The lines travel like waves,
moving in a somewhat abstract but deliberate sort of way.
My brain is made of noise,
but, sometimes,
I wonder if I'm hearing anything at all.
YOU ARE READING
Brecon's Poetry Book...
PoetryHere you will find my musings in poetry form and you'll also find me in these poems; recklessly vulnerable.
