adeanyin

The past few weeks feel like a dream; a surreal dance that will not end.



Watching others was not fun enough; I had to try to play along. Now it seems like Im lost within the crowd walking in a confused shuffle waiting for something to happen.
The person I see in the reflection carries no worries yet Im to deal with this?
I have no rival for my ideas and without the opposite they can not exist; just a story with words that wont stay on the paper.



Soon enough the dance will begin and the floor will be cleared but the dust will remain no matter what we try to sleep away. Its intoxicating; lust for an abomination, now Im only left to say the dream was to pretend and the story will be over before the pen hits the pad. Its just lucky for me that the pen will never run dry.