She had an incredible wordplay. Having a way with words that moved minds through an eloquent voice; soothing, how her soft voice became a midnight melody next to the presence of luminescent stars scattered across the distant sky. The words circled around my cranium imagining her voice tare apart words and reconstruct them into a entirely different perspective. A true native tongue that speaks heavenly upon the depth of thoughts she dug into her mind, being the speaker for her conscience. An often word player playing with words, scrambling the dictionary into her own play book. How is it possible that her voice and words keep me in tuned as if my earphones are plugged into her head and I’m listening to every single thought. It’s as if she has an infinite amount of knowledge with words and how she uses them is just intriguing to me. Spoken words with a microphone against her heart, separating mind and heart since they have different opinions. Mind over matter as she never removes the line to create a mess of intertwined ideals that don’t mix. She just has a way with the words she speaks.

My eyes rose to the occasion of routine mornings, feeling blurred to even see the time on my alarm clock. Jaded by the lingering of uncomfortable positions on what use to feel like a cotton cloud mattress—driven pain up my spinal cord that keeps me away from surreal nights and bright sunny mornings, to see ominous clouds in between the presence of distant stars. Lost track whenever the ceiling top kept staring back; i’ve stared at it more times than the blue skies outside. 

How flowers grew in the soil underneath death, but never bloomed with the amount of water. His hands grabbing the roots as it remained the same color in different seasons and months falling on the calender. Never reached it’s potential or had bees pollinating on them and watching the petals fall and become crisp as it’s roots die underneath the ground.

I remain stuck on a bed trying to toss sense in a room that only echoes my voice to hear myself. Titling the walls my vice as if they record the days spent stressed out to only understand it all, but what to do with it all when it’s figured out.

Death seemed to follow me, being my shadow when radiant rays shine down and create it’s silhouette figure. Once it sets and darkness over powers the atmosphere, death uses it’s essence and feeds off it like a fresh breath of air. I never acknowledged it’s presence nor occurred to me that it took time from his daily scavenger hunt to follow me around.

Twirling around smoke from a lit cigarette as my warm breath exhales from my lungs amongst a cold night. I’ve stared to hard in between the fine lines of my own space where things tend to make sense; collected thoughts like files I revisit and different opinions change everyday.

My eyes looked up to the sun as it’s vibrant rays shined on my face where smiles felt right. How afternoon winds blow and cut slits on my face losing hair on my neck. In the mist of all these moments so much runs through my mind, but at times I want to have no idea what’s happening and have nights where sleep isn’t to forget.

At times I despise these inner thoughts, but some pass off from being some what helpful and understanding. If only my mouth can speak on it’s behalf for once.

My body feels calm being tuned to soft mellow beats pounding euphorically against my ears. No intentions to fall asleep even though sleep feels enticing. But what’s the reason I press my head filled with unwilling thoughts against striped colored pillow cases, to build comfort or escape the face of reality. The two o’clock reflections are going to start to roll in soon, if I’m not awake to see it all. Even if all the pillow cases are cotton covered or i’m laying underneath the most comfortable blanket, my eyes align and meet with a pure dark room on a mattress that’s not filling the needs of comfort. 

I can’t remember the last time sleep was used for the use of comfort and induced to a right amount of time dreaming. Waking up to the sound of an annoying alarm going on until it fully awakes me—dragging the bottom of my eyes with finger tips feeling overly tired and restless. I still hear the reminiscent sounds of thoughts under neath my bed buried, although the voices aren’t as clear when they were trapped and took away sanity. It’s easy for me to fall asleep, but harder to actually wake up feeling overwhelmed and not thinking about what kept me up.

My mind seems to be separated from everyone else. The first one to see the sun rise and set, how luminance of the moon isn’t bright enough for shadows darkness when others rest upon soft mattresses. Floating in a space that doesn’t exist for any human eye to see; stuck in between the invisible air and some sort of dimension of pure serenity. After a while I tend to forget where I am and time isn’t on my wrist watch anymore.

It’s weird, out of no where I feel completely unsure of what’s around me and even who I am. Too many times my head shakes as if this is some sort do dream and I’ll wake up and stare out my window. The room of a distant space keeps spinning until I regain my composure and realize all of this is forever. How did my eyes stare at a luminescent moon into purple and black space surrounding me; all of this will make sense sooner or later.

All I do is ignore how the hands of time echoes as it hangs on the wall; my eyes watching how it rotates in a constant cycle. Father time looking down at me when he puts free time right in front of my eyes; my expressionless face gazing in between the air and time where he sits in his control room. The thing is he can’t tell the meaning of why I stare at one of his dispirited copied clocks and the flood of thoughts that roam around my over capacity mind.

I’ve stared at bright brisk mornings and indigo blue skies once the sun grew tired. Once the clock freezes and birds start to sing heavenly on tree branches, I’ll step away from hearing the loud ticking from seconds and minutes passing by my presence.

Freedom enlightening a state of mind, but it seems that my mind doesn’t state the free soul sounds within the radius of my dome. Apparently my free dome above my cranium doesn’t reach out to the infinite knowledge that surrounds me—not turning my attention a full rotation beyond the finer things in which remain invisible behind normality. I twirl around the ideal words of what the world is with my fingers, watching them dangle as I let them hang until they splatter into the cracks of old sidewalks.

Maybe the free state of mind I never was in already synced in and never noticed its presence. A lot of people told me about that place, their words seemed tainted; few told described about the same place in a different vision, they felt ecstatic every time their foot steps inside the doorway.

Too many minds go to that state of mind, but few create it into what they want to envision it to be.

Shuffling on bed sheets for just one comfortable position that feels right. Toss and turn underneath a thick blanket adding to it with warmth, but it doesn’t feel right when my body always ends up towards the ceiling. All the warmth and turning leaves me staring at the clock, hoping these eye lids miraculously close behind blinds of eye lashes into a bright morning. Time passes by and i’m left awake still drawn towards a hopeless night when hours are away from dawn is greeting me through the cracks open from my blinds. Echoes pounding against my ears as I beat the alarm that would have woken me from a deep sleep, but stared until it was seconds away from ringing repeatedly—i’m up before I should be.

I know the clock is always ticking, and it can’t be replaced to benefit myself of my own decisions. Nothing will change; no hands on the clock will be mixed or minutes and seconds will miraculously stop and turn back time just for me. But what I do is just constantly stare at it, wasting that precious time pressing the glass from my wrist watch against my ear. I’m already too far gone in the depths of what seems to be the center of my mind, where the thoughts float and memories are held. Time has dawned on me that it doesn’t move or control me—I know what i’m doing and what’s going on around me. My legs are crossed as I sit and stare at the white melancholy clock that ticks away.