drift
into the vermilion sky.
when its this surreal,
theres no need to ask
why;
the thoughts in my head, so venomous;
prevent me from wanting to try.
on a picnic-bench locomotive,
on a monorail 30 feet high.
escape
is the first word that appears here, yet its
trapped
that clouds my mind.
but now i found someone to break the mold
that my mantras have carved in my head;
and even though i am left out in the cold,
no one has left me for dead.
stare
into the vermilion sky.
when you feel so real,
theres no need to ask
why;
the thoughts in my head, so hilarious;
prevent me from wanting to cry.














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