This solemn state derails my train of thought,
exhuming hours from the station’s clock.
If you wanted more,
then allocate my will not to be a bore
for you and all your strength,
oh it must be great just to be awake.
I’m so low.
Floored by a condition
that these frets simply console.
Tied to intuition:
“I know something you don’t,” and that’s the best part.
Spilling paint all over the highway,
just to see where they would go.
Shapes, patterns and colors
tricking your brain to see the fabrications
of intrinsic feats of bravery.
Nothing matters but humanity.