I've got deep roots in potted plants,
I used to wake up to sounds of traffic,
Now I hear the air split in two,
With planes breaking through other planes.
In myself there is an open door,
The entrance is an exit.
This cardboard box luggage
has kept me scrambling,
The windows open
And the breeze can kiss my skin,
But the wind can't conceal
All of my blaring mistakes,
The blurring that occurs
As the water beads down your face.