Black Forest

Brushing my sides through the daisies, reaching to catch the winds rhyme my eyes are hazy, bright, it hits me always makes me want to rub them more, these eyes, they feed my itch, curb and let me explore.

Set in so many ways to imagine the golden rush, I intend to jump out of it, and crush them as they come and go, for they said they were there and yet they fled, silhouettes and leftovers of the walking dead.

Blink, once, thrice, or maybe it was my hallucinations, I wish they are just them in my imaginations, such a rapid race riveting rancidly rusting their appease, no longer I wish to stretch my invitation to help them at ease.

Press soft, hard maybe, rubbing them to adjust the right vision, lets jump & swirl, for I don’t want to worry about my action, enter my world, I’ll show you the tides I plucked out of the sea, for me now, and my space builds only what I want to see.