Skipping record stutters tunes
we've heard and refuse to listen to,
bristle to, and grow weary as the familiar refrain remains
Invading the peaceful quiet life afforted
once briefly, but ever fleeting, as the noise
Feeding off complacency...
torments the only place for me
that my mind couldn't shred my insides
Is there refuge in the righteous right way I write about?
Is there a sliver of straight forward in a world turned inside out?
I can't see the light yet know it's blinding
when I find it...
These sound like fairytales to me, a far off land I've never seen
....a distant hope I pray could be a slow, yet sudden, reality
I'll breathe more air to swell these lungs,
so they may push my heart to beating.
I'll listen to all the words I've shunned,
so they might set my eyes to seeing.
if the risk I take opening up, is being cut...
then I'll pride myself in bleeding...