Where eyes want to be

Some days looking down is where eyes want to be. Feet dwell just on top of the underground. Mostly trying to amp inner heart beats with enough courage to face people, armed with a loaded apple. Those days are far and few between, but the exhilaration of the process is absurdly breath keeping. Most of the time- myself found lost- bewildered by others oblivion to my existence within such close range. An invisible lump of garlic pong, sliding though a sea of expressions. Garlic makes me smell like shit, I love garlic. Past a perfect ensemble who obviously chose pretend agreement in regards to a bunch of selected items for dinner. Hunger prevails, once again.

Just as words lose themselves a voice, profession labelled block excuses are left for the lazy.

For me, silence is of much preference. Music time allocated for random intervals of unknowing when’s. Word drain, a relief. Inspiration a chosen pursuit. Rarely is music blasted into gaps of space. Subtleties in resonating resolutions tinker with much joy under the cochlea. The symphony of crickets, to die for. Accompanied mosquitoes, not so much. Condensation though, with snippets of semibreve debris, never did quite go ash-tray. Losing oneself to paint and perhaps garlic infused something. Trying as ever not to be the neatest version of chaos.

13 responses to Where eyes want to be

    • Jessie Martinovic – Author

      Thanking you Hariod Brawn, which abbreviated would be a pencil. Should I notify the cops or do they go hand in hand?

      • Let your conscience decide. By the way, as I’m now a pencil I’ve just worked out that if I rearrange the letters of your name I can turn you into a ‘majestic revision’.

  1. I really like what you’re doing; your voice. Keep writing. You ar vital and observant and expressive, and relatable even as your are singular

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