It's been weeks since I've allowed my fingers to dance around the
keyboard to convey my thoughts. Lately rebellious ink pens and markers
have clashed upon blank pieces of paper. Artistic doodles mixed with
emotional turmoil.
My personal Edgar Allen Rembrandt. Impressionist Insanity.
Miss Mania and Mr. Manic have been playing double dutch within my mind. Twisting ropes that tangle beneath my feet. I'm walking a line that's smudged within the gravel. A Frantic Footpath.
Sir Motivation's become a transient fugitive lost on the underground railroad of my life.
A Strategical Disarray.
These momentary blurbs are shaded with the darkened hues of honesty. A incomprehensible language to the quotidian reader. My internal Pandora's Box that's intentions lead towards the point of no return which I fear is steadily advancing. It's My mind's conception of the fervid Battle of Heilsberg. A precursor to a unidirectional demise.
This lapse in time has given birth to intentions of communication. I have to outwardly pull at the inward suppression. Relief is only warranted in the publicity of these mindless wars.
A Bipolar Ballyhoo.
Though my arms are weary and my hands are weak I must attempt to embrace this day. The expressive tabloid's been printed and placed upon the shelves. Time to see who picks it up and be aware of who passes it by.
It's said and done and hot off the fucking press. Get it while the gettin' is good or drop it like it's hot.
My personal Edgar Allen Rembrandt. Impressionist Insanity.
Miss Mania and Mr. Manic have been playing double dutch within my mind. Twisting ropes that tangle beneath my feet. I'm walking a line that's smudged within the gravel. A Frantic Footpath.
Sir Motivation's become a transient fugitive lost on the underground railroad of my life.
A Strategical Disarray.
These momentary blurbs are shaded with the darkened hues of honesty. A incomprehensible language to the quotidian reader. My internal Pandora's Box that's intentions lead towards the point of no return which I fear is steadily advancing. It's My mind's conception of the fervid Battle of Heilsberg. A precursor to a unidirectional demise.
This lapse in time has given birth to intentions of communication. I have to outwardly pull at the inward suppression. Relief is only warranted in the publicity of these mindless wars.
A Bipolar Ballyhoo.
Though my arms are weary and my hands are weak I must attempt to embrace this day. The expressive tabloid's been printed and placed upon the shelves. Time to see who picks it up and be aware of who passes it by.
It's said and done and hot off the fucking press. Get it while the gettin' is good or drop it like it's hot.
