Immersion in the wrong sorts
This is my manifesto
Tingly body
Mind sunk deep within
An arbitrary conversation
Looking, seeing and feeling the wrongs
A simplified overcoming of stature and belonging
Nevermore, this overcompensated disillusion of downtime and no time of babbling
I will set aside and overcome, with suds of porter in hand
A mild-mannered genius has come to save me
I seem to rise as morning draws near
Pushing through fields of tracks (green and alive)
The dew draws close to my hung down body, feeling alone, but in the comfort of friends
If I drew this close to perfection, every moment I would be the field and I would be the green
A conflict of mind and matter
I would live in harmony beside you
But never alone