Spring back to life.

Every taint or hue is more or less something not comforting i turn to things so dreary-like so mistaken of its own giving i forget sometimes that life isn't just mechanical dryness. learning to love to reconnect to nature is like watching a witch spin a thousand spider's webs the smell is cramming into a book noggin waiting for something returning to nothing smiling, but never realising why. everytime colours erupt into a frenzy, it burns my ears with its harmonic melody, turning my body from the inside out spilling all my organs on the floor in a euphoric loop.