or the melon on the table
or the meteors falling.
Although I know the reason for the state I'm in
lies deep within their very own existence,
I still don't care.
Feeling united with the world by the realisation of the continuous thread that runs between each and every single living thing on this here planet and beyond, well...
it just makes me lonely.
I try to break these mortal lines confining me to stretchmarks and acne
and come find you
so we can play high up in the stratosphere,
but the laws of physics are boring,
and I wish someone would break them down.
But in this place they all conform:
to lines, to shapes, to colours, to gravity.
I've never met so many people
scared of Love before.
Though I have roots,
sometimes I feel like a levitating wanderer.
My earth is in my head,
my roots are in my head.
This physical space does nothing for me.
Aesthetics gets raped daily.
I blow a bubble and bundle up in it.
For me the world is sunshine, lollipops and you.
The rest is for the rest to figure out.
I know it's wrong but I can't help it.
I can't help not caring about the words
that crawl out from ugly mouths with rotten teeth.
I don't care about the thoughts
that spurt out of ugly brains with broken wires.
I don't care who they think I am or what I stand for.
Walking among these deathbound people I'm transparent.
(You know, I think you fit all words for Love
See, I care about the poems and the moments
and the feeling that I get from crafting a world
where you and I are walking holding hands like giddy schoolkids.
I know I'm careless and naive as evening breeze
and living a life of simple thoughts
but this is what my life is like just now,
at least I'm honest.
And kind of free.
At the next falling Perseid
I'll close my eyes and let its green tail
linger and trail across my eyelids.
My wish, an afterglow:
For us to keep on being.