The Hurry
The hurry.
Just because of the lightning which is empty buckets.
We break apart through the cave.
Which has burning sensations.
We don’t rush because.
That’s when the crushing feeling hinders us most.
Just like the lying sensational emptiness.
They don’t have money lying around like we expected.
The hurry.
The sun.
The weird colliding like gum to my lips.
The lightning which peeks through with magnetic feelings.
We hurry because.
They lie to us about the amount of feelings that are allowed to slip through.
Slip though like a ghost who shudders.
And speaks clearly unlike most deathly beings.
The hurry.
The grocery list.
The lightning that pours.
The dancing feeling but it’s a dungeon.
It’s a dungeon.
And they get though anyway.
Thought I was safe from.
The candle light, when nothing can catch fire.
But it does.
But the hurry makes us knock, and stumble.
Crash in this empty palace.
And stones are in a hurry to burn too.
The hurry.
Weird, odd, enthusiastic.
Just like other things.
It speaks clearly.
The hurry.
We did everything fast.
Except try to escape the empty cave.
We put the fire out.
Or so we tried.
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