thoughts and cares...
i am locked up in a wooden cage that's housed in the corner of the library- those desks that shut you off from the surrounding noise that whispers and vibrates through the silence and makes you curious as to what is happening and who else is captured. i am trapped.
just let me out to prowl and scuffle my feet against the worn carpet of the never-ending maze of leather bound books filled with tiny black letters on hundreds of off white pages.
you'll find me scimming and scoping out what hasn't been seen. i'll find something of meaning in something that has no meaning. looking deep in between the lines of a worn out passage from a poet lost in their own thoughts and cares. the leather has been fondled by too many people to not be affected. tiny rips in the paper catch my fingers off guard while i attach my own meaning to the words already labeled with meaning from its creator.
i choke on the residue made from the ideas. images created from my own world inside of me. words evoking more than they ever asked for. more than they ever wanted.
i lie in my hidden aisle catching my breath in between the books on history and humans.
the present time is fleeting.
it's gone.
i am gone.
lost away.
i lost my cares.
i am lost in my cares.
they were locked up in that wooden cage. they seeped into the pores of the graffitied pine.
cheap pine.
expensive thoughts.
passing thoughts.
important cares.
breaking free from that prison.
sips of the air make me realize i will never be a prisoner of that cage but of my own free will.
just let me out to prowl and scuffle my feet against the worn carpet of the never-ending maze of leather bound books filled with tiny black letters on hundreds of off white pages.
you'll find me scimming and scoping out what hasn't been seen. i'll find something of meaning in something that has no meaning. looking deep in between the lines of a worn out passage from a poet lost in their own thoughts and cares. the leather has been fondled by too many people to not be affected. tiny rips in the paper catch my fingers off guard while i attach my own meaning to the words already labeled with meaning from its creator.
i choke on the residue made from the ideas. images created from my own world inside of me. words evoking more than they ever asked for. more than they ever wanted.
i lie in my hidden aisle catching my breath in between the books on history and humans.
the present time is fleeting.
it's gone.
i am gone.
lost away.
i lost my cares.
i am lost in my cares.
they were locked up in that wooden cage. they seeped into the pores of the graffitied pine.
cheap pine.
expensive thoughts.
passing thoughts.
important cares.
breaking free from that prison.
sips of the air make me realize i will never be a prisoner of that cage but of my own free will.