Never Ending Cycle

Who did I let
Run these sad grooves
In my mind,
Where every time
An electric impulse
Is fired through my brain,
I think of all these things,
On repeat,
And it has me shaking,
Unable to shake it off.

Toujours

de papillons, II.

In other news, metallic pencil crayons are gimmicky. As is evident from above.

Trampled

My heart is a fucked up place,
Where everyone that passes by
Tries to see if their feet will fit
In the imprint already there;
They then proceed to grind their heels in,
Deep into the malleable plane, 
Why, it's my own Mann's Chinese Theatre, 
Where most of the mark are unwanted,
And the people, famous for making me
Their sad, proud display. 

Vingt-six

It's a watercolour world
All these raindrops, teardrops
On my paper
Dancing into invisible shapes.
Then you came along
With all your pretty colours,
Diffusing on my page,
Swirling and mesmerizing
Telling stories
Singing songs
Of how you have influenced me,
Strangers and lovers.
It's a watercolour world.