My head is all messed up.
And nothing there ever makes sense.
I can never find sleep,
But all I do is sleep.
I like being sad,
But it doesn't feel good.
But my art is good
When I'm all messed up.
And non of this ever makes sense.
My head move so fast
So
So
Fast.
My mouth can't keep up.
That's why my words never come out pretty
Like everyone else.
But my art,
My art is a thousand pretty words
To the eyes.
And and that makes sense to me.
My Arts the only thing that makes sense,
When my mind disappears in to chaos
Of confusion.
A million thoughts a second.
When I paint they disappear all together.
It's nice.
Cause everything in that moment
Makes complete sense.
I can feel in those moments.
I can find sleep.
I can stay a wake.
But my mind is still messed up.
It will always be messed up.
Cause my art,
My art is good when I'm all messed up.
It's good...
YOU ARE READING
A shitty Artist with a shitty head, writing shitty poems
PoesíaJust as the title says.
