Who says this is a place where thoughts blossom?
Scratch that.
I change my mind thirty-seven times per day.
More times than I eat, sleep, read and say 'I love you'.
Who says this is the place where I make sense?
Sometime ago, I ran out.
Decisions are chances you get, you let go, you missed;
Senses are the apparitions of freedom.
And you can't convene with ghosts.
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I love your poetry.Beautifuly written.
ReplyDeletewise thoughts. specially liked "scratch that", I do it all the time, is a great relief.
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