The Lingering Unseen
When I close my eyes at night, trying to block out all of these blinding, deceitful lights, and all of these unfulfilled desires and painful smiles and crippled words and dull summer suns: it lingers.
Whatever it is.
It lingers and lingers and lingers.
And when I wake up tomorrow I wont remember. Because I'll be too caught up on these glittery rain and glowing rainbows and promises that don't break and the sweet, sweet smell of the untouchable clouds that I'll be seeing in this state when I sleep; between what is real and what is not.
I won't remember them either because they are all infinite; undisturbed; an ideal abstract.
But it'll still lingers, that one thing, whatever it is.
It always does.
Whatever it is.
It lingers and lingers and lingers.
And when I wake up tomorrow I wont remember. Because I'll be too caught up on these glittery rain and glowing rainbows and promises that don't break and the sweet, sweet smell of the untouchable clouds that I'll be seeing in this state when I sleep; between what is real and what is not.
I won't remember them either because they are all infinite; undisturbed; an ideal abstract.
But it'll still lingers, that one thing, whatever it is.
It always does.