Inhale me.
Exhale us.
But who am I to kid?
To think that, there is a us,
Illusive puffs,
Clouds drifting in the winds,
Smoking rims….
Inhale life.
Exhale sadness.
All the bad does it make us
who we are meant to be?
To want more is madness.
To try to comprehend,
Worse.
So I drift.
I skid,
Slide,
deeper into the melancholy streams.
Imagine via http://pixshark.com/fantasy-sky-clouds.htm
Fragmented Mirrors Of My Mind. 