Bleeding Madras
New member
I have been drinking absinthe for most of the night and in the spirit of the spirit here is a poem i wrote.
Walking on a cloud, reality spectating.
Shrill sounds piercing the fog - the naked trees sway beneath trying to grasp at the feet dangling.
Hearts race, ears bleed.
Objects appear only to be forgotten, smiling from reality.
Imps and fairies rejoice above laughing at the ignorance below
Only when walking on a cloud does true colors show.
Walking on a cloud, reality spectating.
Shrill sounds piercing the fog - the naked trees sway beneath trying to grasp at the feet dangling.
Hearts race, ears bleed.
Objects appear only to be forgotten, smiling from reality.
Imps and fairies rejoice above laughing at the ignorance below
Only when walking on a cloud does true colors show.