Stop Wasting Time - Tumblr Posts
Stop a second to think if you would die today could you say you were really living your life without knowing your words are a lie?
Bedroom Creature
Archive #24 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's Note: coincidentally, this piece reminds me of this song:
Maybe I am their secret ghost writer (I am kidding). Enjoy!
Bedroom Creature
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I am one with my room.
I pace back and forth Below my dream catcher and sketches, Picturing a life where I am never bored. Bored? Bored, the thought echoes. I'm tired of wasting Time and embracing My thoughts when I have things to do.
The red string from my Christmas Hangs above my yarn and needles. Humming and refracting; Spending too much time thinking. I contemplate the world's actions Whilst it ignores my pleas.
I can sing and dance but If it takes one person to drag me back down, I would rather it being my future self Than someone who would drain My pouring faucet heart.
An endless supply of care and need, Drank and left empty; A desert in my awakening. I am gullible, For I am in need.
Stuff my insides with stuffing, Zip my mouth shut under my trophies. My glass eyes amongst my soft toys, Left pickering over nothing.
Papers and memories scattered on my floor, If I dwell too long lying face down then I shall be One with dead strands of hair on carpet.
Does art scare you? Abstract or realism? I am left to ponder whether whose who hate different Are different and just don't know how to Paint themselves black and white.
A person is a person until they can't be; Art can be anything even when it can't be. Hence the squiggly lines on maths papers. How innocent yet invasive, Squiggly lines did nothing wrong. We draw squiggly lines all the time- I imagine for the chaos in my brain to be drawn this way.
Black, White, Blue, Green, Purple.
My inner thoughts and rants are not just static, But I wish for it to be splashes of crashing colours. I don't intend to sort and organise My papers into folders Because my room is already one.
I stand beneath my decorated room, Oftentimes I cough and whine, Wondering when I will ever leave this room To be the art I am meant to be whilst a desert in an empty, Thirsty Sea.