Poetry for lost

I think too much. I write too much. I try to understand myself too much. I’m too complicated to understand myself. So I’ll try to not.

This is kind of follow up from my last post, Moods part II – the poetic version. It make sense…

Time by passed and over again
Always again as ever before
Hollow cup of coffee
Never here seems to already exist
Unknown friends itching backwards
We travel through skin and bone
I can see the back of my head
I see white on black
I can’t find my bed
Someone stole my hat I have no pillow

… ghosts have no shadows. And are only visible for mirrors when nobody looks in it. Dreams are like water

I really like pigeons


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