(no subject)
I stand above my cauldron,
mixing a concoction of half-baked plans, futures, ideas and pasts
to let them simmer, boil over, stick to the edges,
grow brown with familiarity
so I can drink it down,
slowly savoring its bitter taste
as it eats away at my insides,
pulls away the cobwebs
and chews at the fabrics of my minds
until am well and throughly
expired.
mixing a concoction of half-baked plans, futures, ideas and pasts
to let them simmer, boil over, stick to the edges,
grow brown with familiarity
so I can drink it down,
slowly savoring its bitter taste
as it eats away at my insides,
pulls away the cobwebs
and chews at the fabrics of my minds
until am well and throughly
expired.