Your gateway to endless inspiration
Series of thin coils.
Bit and bit, a pull whilst in peace
In months, days, minutes,
Seconds
The line is never-stopping.
.
Fingertips are humming
My mind wandering,
My feet are planted
And my heart
Murks
And sinks.
.
To cringe
Infer from the scene
Of the tone
Red and blue, mixing purples and
Shades.
Nerves of my wrist,
My calves,
Screaming like
My veins
.
Thin, bit and bit, I pulled.
Wisps of the thread disappears
behind.
I see the dust
Ever-constant,
As the bubbles of rage
On my throat.
.
My fingertips still burn.
Keep going
For my position
And my
person
Ever-moving.