I could walk a million leagues, but I rested under a tree. I could see a million suns, but I burned my eyes. I could live a million lives, but I died in my sleep. Rest is a story best foretold- in the land of living, seeing and insomniacs.
Far away, a splendid thing. Looking at me- Wearing my clothes, mouthing my name. -- A pause, has resurfaced. in my speech- My tongue no longer cares for my dignity. -- Once crowded, a room has emptied. I can hear only- faithless dogs, howling winds.
Spill your beans Honey bee- my asymmetrical butterfly. Hidden behind anxiety pills, is our voice- carrying our screams. We aren't clergy but measly church mice- Speak Honey bee but, let it be worthy circumstance, that guides your tongue. It's our moment in the Sun; I know you feel the heat. Fret not though- our embryonic… Continue reading Honey bee