little blue flowers

4am

a pen to its owner

you are not literal enough
you speak in nonsense.

gods, i love the taste of it.

but you can't breathe like this.

i don't need air to save me.

there's no point to your fictional
world of mashing pretty-sounding
words together.
sewing up wounds with flowery
words never worked for those stuck
in history books

what makes you so special?

i'm . . . not.

there's just . . . a whole world i haven't found yet, a filter i need to create to see what's locked behind these doors.

there's more.
i speak nonsense to make sense
and iron out the wrinkled mess
of years i've been given.
gods, we're not even halfway through
and my ears are starting to ring
can you hear the rumblings yet?
they're calling for more
poetry.

you're insane.

good.