I just want to write this melody.

And my metaphor is that I�m sailing in a sea of fog, so thick it clouds my eyes. And it�s a spring, so thick its covered in melt off water. And this is my life, so thick I could eat it.

I love unpoetry. Hard words clanking around an empty can.

Jumping. Spinning. Flowery skirts floating in the swirl. More. Guitars. Drums. This is not music.

In fact. This is getting ugly. I feel like I�m vacuuming my mind.

A vacuum. A poorly spelled word. A broken skirt. Like a twisted hanger, ready to unlock the door. Or rip up the car trying.

What a gray flow. Draining from my coral shirt. She writes poetry? Yes, but can she feel. And I find it quite interesting being the ears of a conversation.

1800 calories. Dang. Prying eyes. Like a crack in the door.

A vector. And never ending footsteps. Dancing. In buccaneer pants. Birds eye maple. Black fur. Love.

Don�t look back.