Floating amidst my mind, lines of scattered thoughts:
It’s because your mind won’t calm down, your thoughts are chasing after your words, but you can’t seem to catch them, write them, they only stimulate your heart beat; as kindling they ignite the fire. It burns the thoughts on the surface and all that’s left is your brain and it’s unanswered daydreams.
You. Me. Soul. Friendship. Smiles. Words… Words: Inked, implicit characters that are somehow gathered together to connect your eyes with your brain with your emotions. This whole poem is a symbol of the mind of humanity. Infinitely superior.
I’m observing the pond, it’s infinite ripples that flow outward, closer to the shore, over and over again, flowing, serenity, moving stillness; my eyes paint a picture and I observe it all. Nothing more.
I can’t seem to break this barrier between watching and feeling; contemplating vs. being. My thoughts connect one star to the next, the constellation that forms is a symbol of my confusion. An obscure Orion, faint and unfinished.
I write this without pondering. My thoughts flow down my arms and drip off my fingertips, the words collaborate when they reach the page and I guess that’s just the magic of the mind.
5) I’ve still reached no consensus or salvaged idea. I sit with a blank slate. My mind runs wild but my hands are closed in a fist now and my eyes can’t seem to open. Still, insomnia engulfs in my breath and I tense up by the idea of unclear endlessness. But at least mystery leads to excitement.
6) Your blank slate is paradoxically entire. Unfinished, but whole.