Sickness sets you in to a world of withdrawn retreat.
Modest Mouse flowing from the speakers.
What about the good news for people who like bad news?
I just have a cloud over my face.
Can’t see the world is faded.
Rock to the many noises in your clogged ears.
Not exactly clear, not exactly muddy.
The cold monopolizes on you, your sight, hearing, tasting, feeling.
Leaving a numb feel of the world.
No control over what you feel, how you may perceive.
What mood is there to be in except that which is available?
High treason on your own head.
You chose to not fight back
Just the numb world now.
I need my medicine and music.
I need this cold to pass.
I will be better when I get my medicine.
My medicine is you.
–
I have one of those darn colds and just decided to write. My head is all cloudy. There is a couple different themes in this here piece. The reader decided what he or she decides to see.
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