I'm being swept away.

I spent a good fifteen minutes lying on the grass in the sun.

Lo and behold, a rather fragmented poem appeared.

However, I still didn't get a tan...

I have opened my eyes halfway and given

Myself over to the     air wind    feeling
You're not watching me sleep, beauty.
I can squirm in these fabrics or
Slowly swallow this sunny scene.            Solace.
I've made it so. Made it so I can breathe
You in.

Closing my eyes, I can see the (our) world.
There's a mixture of color being weaved through
This darkness. We are bitter, bothersome, boring
Brutes that bite the bones of the burning bush.
I don't know how this rat race began.

Shallow breaths, and my body heaves.
This kind of life is tethered to the trees
It is shining in and through the leaves.

It's not capable of being bottled or
Physically swallowed in our usual way. This
Cannot be capsuled to create a counterfeit calm.
It can only be felt, experienced, so you can

Drift                                                 away.

Time does not exist, although it calls my name.
I heed the call; hanging my head in shame.

I stand up, clambering to my shaking feet
And sway, softly sweeping away the grass
That has laid to rest upon my shell of clothes.
Returning, I punch my name into the clock
Because this is how the sad story goes.