Sitting here. Mary visited me tonight...
Not so much sitting as laying sitting up.
Pencil in one hand smoke in the other.
Thinking of a way to find that ironic.
The sounds of a perfect circle pushing lyrics into my brain. Their words joining with some of my own...To create something a lot less than beautiful music. The green paint in my room would be a lot brighter with the light off.
I remember the old colors from me and my sisters pain job. I still remember that day. My youngest memory. that i know of.
After my brother painted it, it lost it light. Now it's just a green room painted with the orange of cigarette smoke lingering on top of the paint.
And it happens again as the smoke expels
from once younger lungs. Smoke pluming into shapes next to the light bulb. The beating coming out of my speakers and my ears making it move. And all i can think of is-"I need to sleep after i wake up."
And theirs still the music is still playing metaphor for a mystic moment pull me in to your perfect circle.

-thanks you apc for your ending lyrics.