Creator of Worlds


Maps the desert are broken in a bottle of paste. Through the mind i enlightened the bracelet stars. Blood runneth through and land plank. Figures are matted on the carpet. Moods in the making of sound. Shout that we may feel like nothing is crossed out. Maple syrup in town tromping around like the last feeling. Smush.

I inhale and take an enormous whiff of…what is that?..oh yeah…freedom. It smells like old book pages and endless cups of coffee I usually can’t drink. I push my hands through it and feel the smooth fluffiness of chilled blankets and sandy floors hot with the fiery sun. It’s so palpable that I can feel it days later when I leave this place. The place in my mind that consumes me and at the same time it’s not really there. And what does it look like you ask? Well, sometimes, it’s a beach. Or a bookstore. Maybe it’s so littered with the many things I can grab out of my imagination on a whim that I can barely fit inside. To anyone its an agglomeration of nonsensical waste. I see it as the most beautiful untouchable things that matter and stows a belief of someday.

Oh the sound you say? Musical aesthetics.


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