"the tale of the cherry tree that grew inside an elevator"

Thinking of words has never been easy,
The brain just kind of flutters.
Yet while it falters and falls just to sound some applause,
The words just kind of appear,
Shouting where no one can hear.
An imported tackle of causes,
From brains that are not my own.
With words strung together in a rhythmic mess,
And nothing unique, you resolve to digress.
Thoughts proceed to describe the scenes that are tied to wicked hauntings,
Like cherry picking in a white dress—
Stained with red, imperfect.
Trying to pace my consciousness
As I’m pushed around in silenceness
Leaves are burning
We are still moving
Elevator going up
We can’t stop but I’ve had enough
Dizzy, falling, eyes are bawling
Turn the page the lights are calling
Down we go back to the lobby floor

Please oh please can’t take much more
Cherry picking, elevating, my hearts racing, can’t it all just stop?
 

Please. That’s enough of that.
Don’t immerse yourself in the thoughts of others
You are better off avoiding elevator-trees and stains.

Yet how is one expected to silence their brain?
Because I need cherry pickings
Buttons glowing with piercing tings
Elevating is what gets me thinking
Bloody red wedding rings
Shiny golden cherry drippings.
Darkening skies and drawing eyes and telling lies to cover up your ties
To your brain.
Because the two of you are not the same...

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Ding

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