Inhale; my words start to feel vague, bitter as they constantly spew out with a lot of thought given. To some sort of sense I can feel the weight after they escape my mind—it’s as if it just floats like smoke and disappears in the air. I don’t know why these thoughts grab a hold of my attention when it’s looking the other way, trying to see the darkness of closed eye lids. Grasping full understanding isn’t all that easy but after a while I get use to tangled knots, leaving me to uncomfortable on a soft mattress. 

As it may be repetitive to my own sense—all these ideas are balled up in the gutters where nothing is not one bit understandable. Shoving my head into a static tv and tuned up all the way to the max, or fixating the peripherals of my eyes where everything is blurry. 

A pipe bomb imploding in the confined walls of solitude, but no sound is made as it shatters. So much destruction is keeping me away from inspiration and happiness to a point where I can’t think straight. Above all of that, nothing seems to move me like it doesn’t phase me. 

The morning smell of cinnamon enlightens an essence after waking up, wondering what kept me up in the first place. Maybe i’m just trying to grab my own attention that’s been hidden behind shadows. Exhale; i’m just tired.