The chlorophyll sunshine drags the scene
to my sight, but the way I see it, it's grey.
The roots haven't pulled me to the tree
so nothing is keeping me here.
But no one compels me to leave, either.
It isn't just laze or lethargy,
All there is is 3 minutes of heart-beat,
while I wait for the next boost.
Another long word, some more useless vocabulary.
Wrapped up obnoxiously-
The rhythm itself asks why
it bothers to continue to beat.
And what the fuck it was-?
The lungs thirst for colour and wilderness
instead of mediocrity and disillusion.
Because an illusion would be nice...