The relationship between me and this very land is real, I believe. Definition of real itself lies between the contrary of feeling alive along with the joy and headaches. Pleasures been pouring upon my head, hovering around my senses, pulling me into places where the ground is partly genuine. Dancing in the rain, they say. Been walking around, handing over the loneliness to the streets. Wishing it would be easier just to ignore; the stupid feeling, cold weather and that blinking red light aggressively asking for attention. A bit of swearing flutters from the innocent lips, tearing apart the seal, gradually in frequent motion. Freedom of expression, they say. Simply live under the sky instead of laws. That is to say, the majority of air is no longer oxygen, but instead, it's freedom. Freedom with boundaries slowly growing strong between my nerves. Leads to judgement over judgement, impersonating the fragile footsteps on the sand. The existence lasts within one gentle sway from the wind. Independent, shall it be. Giving justice to the word alone, without sounding poetically pity. It is about giving a chance, and wait. The soft pillow silently listens to every restless thoughts as my head lies casually, desperately begging for a break through the long eventful night. Nothing is going to change. No one is going to change. Sun is just a prologue to greet the rest of my duty. And Crabbies is just a ginger beer.
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