lesleyslenning

Visions are running
by fits and starts.
Irate is the passion
finding a way to grieve.
Vigilant and cringing
no longer content,
breathless and scared
shallow and bent.
In my rumination I can hide forever
to inferior for me to escape,
by the way of day
the mirages perform,
staging a silent dream.

I hate it when I can't sleep. I think I am going to go get a pedicure. Maybe I will go down to 4th ave and take some pictures.