Violently happy
Just a day. Coming and going, feels like drifting in and out of cosciousness. Days without immense realizations are wasted. I feel as if I spend my days realizing the same thing over and over again. I try to blend the line that divides those faux fantasies with back and forth reality. I try to milk a minutes of my day and turn them in to hours. I would love to turn things topsy turvy. There are so many things that I want to let out, and few that I want to draw in. At times I think happiness is obnoxiously right under our noses, but we say "time will tell." I'm nailed to the ground by my pant leg. I feel vines growing thick around me, giving me comfort. I feel thorns in my dreams.