RaMBliNG ThOUghTS

So, I sit and write.
Not in the right state of mind, but still I think.
My lightbulbs are broken and cracked open so my ideas flow free, while my body is locked down by gravity.
These chains.
These chains are heavy, can I still break free?
I cut up a magazine for pictures of where I want to be.
A jigsaw puzzle of blue was the sea.
I used different hues, from different views trying to piece together me.
I couldn’t find the right part for my nose and there wasn’t a way for me to express what’s in my soul so I scrapped the book and decided to write a simple poem.
So I sit in the dark and write using the illumination from my phone.
I wonder if he knows?
I cry alone.
The pit in my stomach is as deep as the Pantheon’s dome.
My feelings untold like Egypt’s history hiding in Africa’s sand and soil.
Mysterious even to me.
I don’t understand my body language.
Foreign feelings, foreign dealings just revoke my passport- I’m tired of visiting.
The silence of the night creeps in over me like a blanket for a baby trying to be rocked to sleep.
Maybe I should just sleep?
Maybe it will come to me in my dream- the reason why I can’t get rid of this feeling.
I’m alive but not living, but I am breathing.
I have a pulse, so that means my heart is still beating, I just have to figure out the rhythm to the beat of my drum.
Time for me to write a text message to Mr. Sandman and ask him to send me a dream.