Most of these lines are motivated by my mind.
It only seems fit since I dwell there for many moons.
Wandering past melting nebulae of emotion,
Stargazing through satellites at swirling
Clouds of commotion.
Eavesdropping on essays of espionage through
Mouths of marauding morons.
I don’t think I belong here –
But then again,
I don’t believe much of what I think;
Which, is transposed into motions
That direct my daily interactions.
I sit here and think of you:
The source of this,
But you were not used:
You haphazardly fell into me.
Metamorphosing me from moth to man –
You are not finished
And neither are we…