They say we fanthom our thoughts to constellations,
but in truth,
my thoughts are fanthom to storms.
They say we have flowers in us,
but honestly,
I only have weeds growing in me.
They say we picture death in darkness
but all in all,
I picture myself falling into absolutely nothing when it's all dark.
They say our inner demons eat us alive,
but has anyone ever thought,
that it is ourself who surrender to it.
They say we love writing poems for it is our unwritten thoughts,
but the truth is,
we are all just too afraid of the surreality that our thoughts may never be accepted if we speak of it aloud.
My surreality in a nutshell.
