Painting pictures with poetry as the pen



As I chase a satisfaction I seem to never remember, a non tangible feeling of love that's be floating just above us, something I can't clutch, i leave my office desk at lunch to walk aimlessly amongst large companies of oxford, filled shopping bags of must haves, Admiring bright reflections of sun shimmering above, envisioning that feeling can muster into something more than just a lust, corrupted by a lack of trust. I trusted I made the right decision working for a business, so I can receive money that seems to be so fulfilling. But who was I kidding, now I'm drifting in a self Sabotaging sadness, one that sits between what you want and what you can't have, Counted thousands of dollars on linen sheets |as my living means| in my past traps. but that's my carry on luggage left at departure. Now smarter or so it seems, But I'm questioning a picture with a larger meaning, as I read between the lines of emails I'm cc’d in. what's my existence, why am I working for someone I'll never see, trying turn my Instagram into reality TV. And purchase items so worthless to these ideas I'm purging, and yet I'm surfing the tube with not person speaking a word just perving at their screens double tapping their fingers as means of liking a person. How do I break from out the circle dive beneath the surface? Escape this commercialised perspective of my birthplace. Forgetting how I got here in the first place,observing all these people's faces, empty looks patiently awaiting on their deaternation - wish I could tell what path my life was taken, I guess that's the reasons for this music in the first place