Angry park bench
Some days are the quiet type.
The apartment is tidy.
The dishes are cleaned.
The clothes are washed.
The nails are clipped.
The body is groomed.
The to dos are checked.
Still there is no stillness to be found.
An inner monologue screams.
Throws emotions against the chest wall.
Pumping anger molecules through the veins.
Lightings from the inner storm crash into a sea of uncried tears.
Yet you sit there.
Calmly on the ouside.
On a park bench.
Observing nothing really but the wholes in the air.
That you’ve created by staring into that realm between what seems to be the border between worlds.
Inner and outer reality.
So much is going on.
Just by sitting there.
On that damn bench.
Where nothing is to do.
Nothing is to be done.
Just oneself to be.
Found.
.
Homo sapiens sapiens = Homo completely lost their ways because we are doing all the time which is why we have such a problem not to do anything and we are listenining to our own inner garbage all the time which is not real at all what a bummer and what a mess we are when we are not
