I feel poetic and exhilarated- in a world world external and public, yet internal and private: something that I can call my own; a little bubble with an ashtray grey with muddled thoughts- light and effervescent, enough to be blown away with a mere gust of air. Speaking to each other, pacifying their environment, my thoughts gently numb the erosion that has been corroding my mind. They softly brush together and intertwine their make - belief palms to push out the corruption that has long since been poisoning the territory of my sanity. Temporary as it may be, the escapist in me appreciates the vacation - I had hoped to find a sandy white beach outlined with green, umbrella-like palm trees, but the most I could get this time was only the infantile pleasure of resting these thoughts in my bed. A permanence in the temporary resonates within me as I realize that reality will catch up with me very soon. I feel her coming. The thoughts begin to tame themselves, the rust seems to be bringing back that feeling back with it once more. The bass keeps resounding. The beat keeps beating.
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