yesteryears that bring me to tears, oh the ideas that come from before
so ive been thinking:
about orange juice and sour milk of dreams that arent mine and the view from the grass of central park of the leaves in the sun and all things i want to believe and going home and moving on and dreams that make me dizzy and memories tinged in gold, maybe more like sepia but either way it looks so much better than what it really was and the language i speak in my sleep and what it really means and others the other ideas that arent mine
but mostly i've been thinking:
thought is movement
so why am i still right here?
about orange juice and sour milk of dreams that arent mine and the view from the grass of central park of the leaves in the sun and all things i want to believe and going home and moving on and dreams that make me dizzy and memories tinged in gold, maybe more like sepia but either way it looks so much better than what it really was and the language i speak in my sleep and what it really means and others the other ideas that arent mine
but mostly i've been thinking:
thought is movement
so why am i still right here?