THOUGHTS FROM THE OVERGROWTH

Open grave

Sleep talk, day walk.

A Sun reminds spirit in this grey fog morning.

Timeless and synchronous moment, in instant recognition.

Upon a tarmac black artery of death and toxicity.

On the road.

Out here, we are all lonely.

We are drawn to unhappy endings.

Do you get lonely hiding out in the open?

People move around and say its for cheaper housing or a quieter neighbourhood.

But really all are just out running something.

Like problems and mistakes can be dumped into a donation bin.

Or buried in a back yard and that’s that.

But it doesn’t matter where you hide though does it?

In the end all we get is different tasting tap water and new scenery for our misery.

Sleep comes easier when young, exciting colourful cartoons.

Everything is new and fresh, its the false promise.

As you get older that changes, thoughts get stuck and corrupted.

Your mind now functions like a scratched disk that skips illogically, jumping backwards and forwards, replaying your least favourite scenes.

Spirit feeds on torment.

Hope is concealed within a tapestry of deceit.

But all is an illusion and it cannot last.

All is an illusion.