sometimes in my dreams, the white pain(t) is chipped off the walls and the wooden/un-even floors are creaky.
the uneasiness, remains.
however, lately, lilac &lazy hues have been vanishing the sights and i’m left wandering. pathways of fog, dark lights. delays in my steps — always nearing something yet never, ever really there.
my guitar pick, white.
and in a swift, Kendrick Lamar is plastered in pepsi, hurrying through a hallway towards an away from where i sway. i turn and am left
believing in the avant-garde-ness my 8-piece band plucks. our hands, on point. like Thelonious Monk.
a forte staccato.
and i’m finally born.