Knowing more than the average
ruptures my thoughts.
Why am I more alone than,
these days it hurts to dream,
it hurts to try,
it hurts my brain.
Dear Sir, Madame, or Entity,
To the highest chance inside of me that claims you wish to care or know,
I'm drowning in my mind and I can't get out.
I am a dream of a thought clinging to the grain of sand within me that holds,
every part of me,
that is beautiful and wishful, not cynical like me.
Knowing more than them
makes me want a different dream than them.
When will waiting be a memory?
YOU ARE READING
Pause.
PoetryOn growing collection of my tea drinking moments when my mind is well 'a bit' more silent.
