Cliches poison my thumbs
My mind a wondrous family heirloom can't catch up to my thoughts,
They race out my bedroom windows
While my nightmares refuse to leave
The sun shines so bright in my memory
I almost think I know how it tastes, how it smells,
I have a peculiar obsession with things I can never get to
Places I will never be
Goals I will die way before I will actually attempt to achieve them
And does it mean anything
And does it ever mean anything.
Cliches poison my thoughts
I wanna be free
I am not free
And here my thoughts go again
Racing out my window
And still
My nightmares refuse to leave
YOU ARE READING
Written in the stars| poetry
Şiir'Somedays I make horrible things sound pretty.' A collection of poems
