A muddled reality

I'm gazing blankly into this swirl of blank looking paper, imagining concoxious dull words I could wash into this dull sheet.

Everyone has eyes, each a unique and different pair, they can dryly surprise, or flood like like the Amazonia.
They're like the windows to your soul, and all in sophisticated, technicolour dreams.

I almost forget that I love you on purpose. While your kiss, so tender, like newborn skin, is the scent of feminine and innocent girls lips.

Exausted. You must repress yourself from comparing your pride to the beauty of a summers day. Grass worn down, like old rough carpet trailing up the stairs, where you have led so many different men to end their declarity in tragedy. Lacking all sensitivity, I admire his idle and mocking agenda, seeking a blood rush of colours that blink as fast as your own two eyes.