The moisture hange in
the air like a
blanket draped ever your
shoulders, covering you fave
muddling your non productive thoughts
only this you cannot throw off.
The hammok clings to my sweaty skin
Blue, red, green, black
strips woven together
creating a mysterious pattern
to that never seems to have began
nor that wants to end
One foot on top
one gently swaying
creating a rythm
on the cool, tile floor.
The ceiling is boring
orange,
cannot figure out the plain substance
in which it is
I look to the side
outside
The soft rolling mountains covered with trees
save one bare,
pale spot on top
loo like little pebbles covered with moss
Up close the true variety of trees is staggering.
The smell is unidentifiable,
it's plain but fresh
like forest and life and trees and fruit
rotting fruit and bugs and more life.
I hear the rushing of the forceful river
below
Some one has somewhere to go,
carrying, pushing
sticks and logs and bugs and fish and
dirt
Birds chatter
louder and louder
different pitches
combine in your punding head
as one
blinding sound.
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