In other news, I'm feeling pretty open minded right now.
WHY? You ask.
Because this isn't supposed to be poetry
but my truncated lines and unnecessary <br> coding suggests otherwise.
I feel more when my hand is connected to a pen
or a pencil, if just to start
before my consciousness has awakened
(before it begins to wane again)
What am I saying other than nonsense?
Who am I now but Myself?
Music and scents surround me
Taste evades my mind and tongue
You were here once
And still enrapture me now.
But only in the space of a second
I want passion and excitement to fuel my art
Is that as selfish as it sounds?
Maybe emotion is too abrasive for our love
Do I stop this tomfoolery
Or stop this pen?
Misters and Mistresses sauntering around:
Who are you to make me drop to the ground
Who are you to force me to my knees
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