The birds always leave, they never stay in one place.
All of them.
As a unit.
No one ever thinks of staying put.

The colors like sliding down the sky when it rains.
It's their own personal Wet and Wild ride.
But it always goes away when the fun is over.

The typewriters all are broken.
They have the words human etched on every single piece of paper it prints.
The ink jammed in between the ribbon is made of melted glass.

The nail polish just wants to be left alone for once.
Its tired of being used only for beauty and not for character.

Don't tell me that gravity is scientific.
It's magical.

I don't know how many times a day I blink.
But I'm sure it's not as many times as the people who have tears in their eyes.

The world isn't green like the trees, blue like the sky, or white like the clouds.
Its all of it.
All of the colors and all of its absence.

Nothing fills void,
But void fills nothing.

There's dust in everyone's cabinets.
There are storms in everyone's head.