A warning. don't try to make sense of this (unless you do or really want to). This has already confused others before you so don't feel ashamed if you can't make sense of it
this is a jump to my more surrealist/absurdist side. i think this one was written while my insomnia was at a bad stage. that or i couldn't be bothered with sense. i urge people to try this sometime (not the insomnia, the lack of making sense).
Been holding onto old strings that were better off left to the wind. Been hanging round with old, blurred thoughts again. Been picking at the fissures and the cliffs of dreams past, trying to find. Been eroding these walls around me that decayed and began as a stain. I'm staring out at what surrounds me, arid field cities and bountiful tundra deserts. Lost. Found. Fast. Slow. The ringing screams as a fountain of shell bitten earth, Glides across Night's sky. Sears through Day's plight. The crowd echos empty and forgotten. Yet you suddenly remember that a land of melting clocks was not the best place to remember, Or to raise children in, as a matter a fact.