Wandering

I walked in the green sea of mystery and scavenged for a light. However, a metal spoon had carved away at my eyes— its emptiness swallowed me. So there I wandered with my head chopped off‒ no mind of my own. I am no use to the world. I am just a baby manufacturer‒ an oven of some sort. I have no ecstasy, no ambition flaming in my eyes. All that belongs to me is the beat box inside my chest, my bones and vanilla ice cream flesh, my imprisoned soul, and my disturbing dreams.