It is 4:40 in the morning
I should be snoring
rather I am exploring this new world
I created with a flick of my wrist
just a little bit of diction and the page is imprisoned
to by my prism
splitting up the facets of ink
I practice every week
every night I never sleep
I just blink and I blink
til the brink of this bleached tree is reached
I just think and I think
til I know that I'm sinking
in this ocean of emotions
I never learned to control
I watch as I burn all my bridges
no stitches just division
maybe one day we will all sing again
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