How horrible the page would look with all the scribbles

Never been turned, but always ideas jotted down with fresh ink

Ideas may be stale or fresh, they intermingle uncomfortably

Not out of harmonious feelings; lazy fingers didn’t want to work

Even the fresh ink becomes stale and curdles along with the old

Reeking of confusion and drawing the epitome of laziness

One who can make sense of the endless twirls and jumbled words

Entangled uneasily like creepers and smothering the ideas

Engaging them in a questionable situation across revolting molecules

Of ink and paper; both tired of the tiredness of a lazy character

Curled up from the edges and strained at the spine

The contorted words and convulsive designs will be a reality


2 thoughts on “Unease

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