The little slimy thing in my head...

The brain.

The fu**** brain.

Why does mine feel soo boggled?

Why is it always talking?

It talks. I listen.

Music seems too noisy, for the brain is already loud enough.

Some days it stays quite. These days feel liberating.

Today, is not one of those unusual days.

This talking that takes shade inside me is finally, freed. It takes the shape of art and poetry as the sun goes down.

Today, the talking was too loud and ceaseless. So, I happened to scribble it over a dearly book.

Sometimes, I wish the talking wasn't as much. But, it's what plants the seed of creativity for me. As much as I'd love to have a free and unoccupied mind, it wouldn't satisfy me thoroughly. Creating art with the help of my talkative, boggled mind leaves me being more content.

So, weirdly I happen to appreciate and be grateful of my boggled mind as I reach the end of writing this.

Lol bye.