My book of nonsense

Pointless scribbles

Scribbles, just pointless scribbles.

A thousand little words that are pointless yet I watch then walk on the very pages I'm reading with.

The aliens surrounding me give me strange looks as they watch me scribble but there eyes are blind to the words that walk off the page & dance around ... For a lack of better word, beautifully.

Sigh,

Somedays I don't understand my ability to be stuck while I'm writing, leaving room for god knows what.

Like when an outcast decides to find the key to the other side of the universe leaving him countless adventures...

But,

Alas there unfinished.

I sit here listening to the squabbering of drones all so content to be exactly alike...

I wish to block them out, to write a place I wouldn't mind visiting.

The sky is a dim color like light pink lemonade looking sweet to the drink.

Clouds that I spent an afternoon on, whisking them with a charming gate keeper to create the most wonderful scenery.

Long dark roots made of the richest of hazelnuts, drafting the leaves with a honey coated syrup that shames even the most delicate colors of chocolate...

But for now...

I stay here, scribbling nonsense, watching society turn a blind eye to the pictures that dance on my pages