ugly weather.
welcome to a world
where nothing is really there
everything is naked and bare
concieved through a blank stare.
welcome to a place
where nothing is really still
television skies.
television skies
above our eyes:
where the blind men go
to watch their shows.
and when they die
they will never know
and we'll just sigh, and walk on by
waving at the endless rows.
yearning to create.
happy song,
come on.
make yourself spawn
inside my brain.
let me play you
'til i feel pain.
because i'm assuming
my fingers and forearms will hurt.
and these thoughts that are a-blooming



