After the Swine.
Mornings are for hoods.
The warm comfort of a weighty hood resting upon my head.
Like a personal bedroom.
I can't see a single individual from side to side.
Maybe if I can't see them, they won't notice me.
Magical hoods.
Mental associations.
A week of sickness past by.
A rush in the pit of my stomach to regain stride.
Counting down a week in the library.
Making schedules upon schedules to fill up the mind.
Lacking in conversation, but bursting with potential communication.
These breaks in between classes.
Like soul rests.
No crackle of pages or slow released yawns.
Not the kind of communication I wished for.
Waiting on a weekend.
Trying not to scare away love with plans.
Just let be.
Hard to do without conversation.
Thoughts plan when they have nothing to fiddle with.
Just let be.
I must see.
The warm comfort of a weighty hood resting upon my head.
Like a personal bedroom.
I can't see a single individual from side to side.
Maybe if I can't see them, they won't notice me.
Magical hoods.
Mental associations.
A week of sickness past by.
A rush in the pit of my stomach to regain stride.
Counting down a week in the library.
Making schedules upon schedules to fill up the mind.
Lacking in conversation, but bursting with potential communication.
These breaks in between classes.
Like soul rests.
No crackle of pages or slow released yawns.
Not the kind of communication I wished for.
Waiting on a weekend.
Trying not to scare away love with plans.
Just let be.
Hard to do without conversation.
Thoughts plan when they have nothing to fiddle with.
Just let be.
I must see.