sylvey
worthless
- Oct 11, 2023
- 188
Pain has pitch
Color tastes strange.
Sound has texture,
My mind is deranged.
Words, spoken with honesty, dismissed;
State_of_mind:Subject_to_change
A reality flipped on its head and reversed
A high-pitched pinching kind of pain
A click-tick-crunchy sort of synthetic song,
Yet only upon me does this storm rain
If only I could feel things they way you describe,
Maybe I could describe to you how I feel
But you scoffed at the world I painted in respond
Just who are you to tell me it isn't real?
What am I to you, if not what you wanted me to be?
New_opinion_create:Abnormality
Unusual are the paints of my mind,
Cacophonuos coloration, as if a brush could sing
But such is the way the world is colored for me;
Such is the way I experience these things.
Color tastes strange.
Sound has texture,
My mind is deranged.
Words, spoken with honesty, dismissed;
State_of_mind:Subject_to_change
A reality flipped on its head and reversed
A high-pitched pinching kind of pain
A click-tick-crunchy sort of synthetic song,
Yet only upon me does this storm rain
If only I could feel things they way you describe,
Maybe I could describe to you how I feel
But you scoffed at the world I painted in respond
Just who are you to tell me it isn't real?
What am I to you, if not what you wanted me to be?
New_opinion_create:Abnormality
Unusual are the paints of my mind,
Cacophonuos coloration, as if a brush could sing
But such is the way the world is colored for me;
Such is the way I experience these things.
