There is no compartmentalizing
Whenever this is in question--
It's always in question
Because the escape is far-fetched at sea
And I'm in a boat without a paddle.
Living underneath the star-struck skyline
Poses the glimpse of reality in purples
And shades are a complex entity when
All you can see is black and white.
But I'm in a wheelbarrow
And its on the other side of nowhere
And I can't quite tell if these thoughts will cease
When I can lay myself down to sleep
The rhyme and reason is lost at sea
But the color palate and canvas is on my lap
And I'm without a paddle and painting blindly
With my fingers.
Pounding away at every brain-wave that passes
With an absent brushstroke
That poses as something beautiful and entirely modern--
But it's just overcompensating.
This is the melancholy nonsense that plague
Bed-rest and satin sheets,
And 2 am never felt so clear--
But I wake up in a haze of confusion and daunting analyzations of what 2 am meant.
Let me know if there's a remedy for the over-thinking female mind.