Nomad Scribbles

Like the waves that keep moving
Never stopping, always moving
Displacement of words is natural
Sometimes they are at brim
Sometimes dissolved in the grim
Words, oh I lack a lot of them,
Compelled to fill the pages anyhow.

As the ink leaks on the mind like patches,
There are circles formed, like blue suns,
Its an ideology for a scientist,
And disgust for a masochist,
Patches, I wash them all,
Stains are faint, but their boundaries crawl,
I'm those patches, self deprecating.

-knightesS