Standing in the eye of a whirl pool,
carried here by my flourescent balloons,
voice squeaky with helium and high.
Nothing driving my creativity,
no passion bursting with ravens
taking flight and screaming into the sky.
Waters lapping fiercly around my waist,
ruby shoes drowning underneath,
box of delights in my hand.
Music hanging from my earlobes,
teeth pulling apart my lips,
dangerous content, to be rocked
by strange ecstasy.
That was a weird entry. Images flashed in my head, words slipped out of my mouth.