Peace From Dead Skinned Fingers

It's minor keys that resonate, I'll stay up late and wait then in between the silence I'll hear the sound of steel and cedar, the slow rebound wrapping around my reflective heart and so it comes,this slow release brings me peace in dead skinned fingers. It's me who lingers unanswered and unsolved even after prayer wheels have been revolved. The answer is not to doubt at all, to take our backs from off the wall, but still these shapes take precedence, a permanent tenement residence of twos and blue toned cadence. That perfection goes unnoticed would be easier to bare if there was someone there to share the exquisite madness and requisite gladness who's roots draw from melancholy but the apple that fell on me knocking sense into me bruising my head releases me, brings peace to me instead.