High Strung
Every time the mind has an intention,
The body sends back a rejection.
Shouldn’t there be a connection?
Why dwell in a different dimension?
It’s not a split mind anymore —
Just a corpse trying to restore,
Clutching what’s left of its core,
After everything wore.
It’s not a disaster, after all.
I only need to stand tall,
And silence every recall —
The echoes of my fall.
I know I’m young,
Yet the sorrow still stung.
As breath in my lungs hung
Will I ever stop being high-strung,
And lower the nerve clung?
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