My words are just like time; Fleeting.
I chase around endless rhymes; Heaving.
Just as time passes me by, my words do too; Leaving.
They leave behind an insatiable hunger; a sort of empty feeling.
My words are broken; Incomplete.
My creativity silent; sound asleep.
The words in my mind a beautiful painting; Masterpiece.
The words in reality corrupted; Missing more than a "last piece".
It's starts out one way but ends completely different; Estranged.
My previous words slip through my palms; Washing away like pouring rain.
My words are fleeting, just like time.
As I chase around these endless rhymes.
Not close enough to be what I want, not far enough to be what I need.
(Ah shit, I don't know how to end this...)
I know I haven't posted for a while, but let alone stories, now even poems are escaping me.
I came up with lots of scattered poems, never being able to piece them together.
I'd remember them but then as soon as I pick up my phone all thoughts leave me. *Laughs* it's ok I guess. It's come back to me (I hope)
[Every time guess and hope are in the same sentence I only remember Otis from Magnus Chase 😂]
