Swollen Branches

I would belong inside of some asymmetrical oblivion. The vessels in my hands have been sucked from by the wits of those with no time for themselves. In an abrupt act of secrecy I created an endless cimmerian hole, and now I’m faced with the time in which I must explain. My large hands have been etched and removed from all exploitive nerves in my body; I cannot express. I cannot support those whom need explanation, as they are the very ones demanding me dry.

In my factual existence I find exhaustion and humorless boredom. My sense of boredom has no trace of lazy glee. It’s not sweet, lazy boredom; it’s just climactic inactivity. It has me riveted in that its growths and behaviors of mundanity tower far above my nature.

Reviews

[Gaurav]

An honest attempt defining the wisdom arising from loneliness. Thanks for sharing.