Diaphanous detritus.

Feeling warm, how does one retain A sense of self or understand A facet of life in which they know nothing But can only sense Im sitting in a room Its sight brings me pain Its objects bring me comfort But I itch within Its walls And my skin erupts Never Healthy Warmer Still and fingers Hurt whilst music plays a lone mans voice over an eerie chorus, ghosts in unison and quick crescendo Books are everywhere I search for meaning within them Sometimes disliking myself in the process Oh good for you she scoffed, her biggest critic she never lets up And oaky tables feel like new and old they know things we dont the humming of the wind brings no solace Warmer Still -

A quick and ridiculous (unedited) automatic exercise.