The saturated mind flows on with damp tides
Ceaselessly pouring and draining into unfounded caches.
Even the soothe-slayer cannot term the theories pro-versed in rambling words where the true heart lies, masked in tilted perceptions and latent meanings far, far from common sense understanding and comfortable talk cushioned and lined with familiar idioms.
The saturated mind is lost in vague reasoning, barely known to even the host; abstract derivatives found in the Forms* that the scholars may not define or touch.
The spout flows unlimited,
beyond the living breath,
exceeding the infinite.
Published by Ziggy Mang
I write because the thoughts would otherwise
bleed through my head. I do not know if I am
ambitious anymore, I would just like to tell
everyone that since people like to think all
else. Everyone should be ambitious but I can
never feel it in me forever; every time I go
to sleep it seems like I just wake up, not a
dream or image comes to my mind except these
stale moments where everything I was the day
before becomes erased. The poems and stories
I write are who I am. They are the only bits
of myself that I can keep from each day. Its
not amnesia but I lose my head or else I can
see these thoughts bleeding through my head.
Can't you see that? Everyone else thinks I'm
crazy but I do know I am no oddity or artist
just that I am breathing words that can make
sense even if the images seem blurry or dim.
View all posts by Ziggy Mang
ANTHOLOGY OF A POLTROON 