it's always a slow burn, a firecracker
a protest of rebellion, a signal, a lighthouse
the drums in my ears start to get louder
and the silent plea in my heart turns into
a haywire riot to bleed for better reasons
all my life i am adrift in fluidity, i think
my feet never really touched the ground
a barely-there inch or two of daydreams
keeping me afloat as i push through the crowd
towards the highest form of self-achievement
only to plummet down with an empty vessel
my episodes begin with the morning sun
and they slumber when it reaches twilight,
some flashes of red stings and orange pulses
like a traffic light changing to green but
nobody really crosses the street anymore
my feet takes me to another route,
the flowers of yesterday blend into
a monochrome garden of my passions
there is a deep calling for my muse