Lungs.

I open up this page, but cannot seem to write down any words.
They disappear as I grasp for them.
Perhaps it's only this tiredness, yes...that
That must be it.My fuzzy cloud of a mind.
(Bollocks...I'm pretty sharp in the morning time)
I have exposed myself a little too much I fear.
So I escape back to my cave.
Some how words have found themselves redundant.
Perhaps I have said all it is I can say.
That's all. There is nothing left. no point in more words.
What good are words?...

What good is love?

I shake my head.

I know those words in themselves are a lie.
(Complete and utter bollocks in fact...)
For love should be in all things. And indeed it is.
I'm merely being a moody child.
driven astray by coincidence and beauty.