Sunday, 6 September 2015

Going Up

     Let me squeeze a few words out of my mind. Let them flow through my veins. And pour through my fingers. Into the keyboard. It's this strange feeling you have. When you think you can actually say something that can change one person. It doesn't have to be more than one. 
     So you write. Words, music. Anything you can imagine. Then a hustle of drained and confused thoughts. Smashed through your wall. And poured from your mouth. Wasted materials. 
     You're going up. Oh universe you stink of love. Oh my place you stink of disdain. (I'm trying to be funny here)

     Chop. Chop.

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