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I feel myself floating
in a mist of colors?
the smell is like extasy,
making my brain go out of this damned world
i look down,
i see the world
bleeding from the tip of a sharpie

the oceans are purple with a twist,
the forests are bright orange with rage
the cities' buildings are black figures against a red backdrop
bleeding from the tip of a sharpie
our world becomes no more

i sit at my desk,
letting the pen bleed into my paper,
where words were.
i see a cup,
could it be that it is half-empty?
or it could mean that is never existed.
but whatever, i'm just confusing my self,
in the wonders of the sharpie

the oceans are purple with a twist,
the forests are bright orange with rage
the cities' buildings are black figures against a red backdrop
bleeding from the tip of a sharpie
our world becomes no more
our world becomes no more

can it ever return to normal (i'm not sure)
can it ever stop bleeding (i'm not sure)
can it ever ever stop hurting (i'm not sure)
but i'm so right about our fate.
non-existance.

the oceans are purple with a twist,
the forests are bright orange with rage
the cities' buildings are black figures against a red backdrop
bleeding from the tip of a sharpie
our world becomes no more
and space becomes quiet.