the mind is like a draft,
floating into the
unknown raft
it blanks and wavers,
filling up with thoughts.
some different flavors.
it's also like a canvas.
so blank that you can't
help but be filled with madness.
but the mind was never a place to stay,
because you might never find a way
back from the ever-living fray.
YOU ARE READING
To The World
Poetry"the inferno of words would be my demise if i did not express them." #501 in poetry #640 in poetry #689 in poetry #692 in poetry
