theangus

Jeebus, I don't know what it is, but my stream of conciousness has been absolutely fucking insane these past two days, I've written over 13 songs and poems. I think it's this new pen that my friend gave me, it's totally bitchin and black and you can hear the ball bearing roll when you write with it, I shall name it Pedro.

anyway, here's a new poem I wrote, tell me what you think of it.

when will it be my time to escape?
the walls rust with cold memories
and the microwave's gone cold
my throat is dry
from swallowing my own sweat
and I only have 3000 miles more to run before I'm on the other side
of the country
I wake up from my dream
in a cold sweat
embellished thoughts
exaggerate my subconcious
pulsing and pounding
projecting my thoughts
over a movie screen of frustration
this place is my prison
every building a gigantic steel enclosure
that forces me to weave a different path
than straight ahead
I try to fall asleep
but I can't
my mind tortures me
with the beautiful thought
of living in a beautiful city
with a beautiful girl
in an old apartment
I keep running
this time through the city
the shops and bars light the way with laughter
and the air is thick
with the smell of cheap beer
but I still go on
it's not as if there's anything here left
to go for or run to
my hometown rusts over