Picture with words. Third floor.

I've got a real passion for this stuff. wrote this today in english and didn't get caught. I like this new style I've started, its like taking a breath of the freshest air after hopping out of a shower. No matter the setting, as long as I can paint it and have people see it in their own way through my words then that makes my technique and writing style complete. I'm not saying this is a new writing style, just saying that I like using it.

I don't know what I'm thinking.

Constant attack.

Dirt, my past recollective.

My mind feeble, my heart weak.

White noise clouds my voice.

The center of the screen black.

The sun rise, shadows hollow like wind.

The power of light moves my hair ever so slightly.

The couch I waste away on.

The seams broken, my skin pale.

My eyes wonder with doubt, tracing the outline of shadows.

Bags full, my chest heavy, hands weak.

Eye brows waved, the darkness dilated.

Shirt stained, flies curious.

Suede shoes gleam to the right.

The light although bright, my shoes tattered.

Many miles in the past, my pant legs wet with disaster.

The fences I've climbed, the walls I've scaled.

My shoes, barbed wire, my body failed.

This couch once seated three.

The only cushion on it now is me.

My eyes dry with sorrow.

Skin, dirt holds my scabs together as my scabs hold me.

My skin tight, scars never mending.

My past, these thoughts never ending.

The grass outside, yellow and pale as I am.

weeds flourish, seeds contradict the blue sky.

Heat waves swallow the white fluff.

The disastrous flower carried across the street.

My eyes, my eyes, blood thick painted across them.

White noise screams at my body.

The light withers away.

eyes closed, blood no longer running.

body white, the sun glows.

curtains wide, my heart disposed.

Forever my last sunset, shadows cast.

The only life i ever lived, done at last.