Nonsense.

The way we speak to each other
is like the way we speak to life
I don’t know how that comes across another
with everything bottled inside
sometimes life feels like a danger
to what’s already been a future
whether this is making sense or not
is nothing i can come to conscious of
what it is is just a flow of words
completely from the head to the fingers
like electricity strikes
and they type out what I put together
in different forms of letters
maybe it should be seen like pictures
or maybe in patterns of colours
when hallucination is over
I read it all again
and that’s when I stop typing
because everything makes no sense