The In-Between
What is there to hold onto if you don’t even know your Self?
There’s nothing worse than a hardened heart that yearns to crack and spill all over
Bleeding for the truth, finally breaking free
Thickened by time, grown into leather
Loss, ignorance, misdirected energy
Trapped and bound, waiting in the dark
No one goes in or out
So softly it whimpers for deliverance
Questioning whether anyone exists to hear
Yet it longs to cry harder, to yell with passion
To scream wildly with the force of true surrender
An unrelenting frenzy capable of compelling a worthy answer
The loss of control promises a sigh of relief, “Ah, so”
But resignation is a tight-fitting muzzle that stifles the sound and it chokes on the words
Despairing, it struggles to forget, knowing full well it cannot
Blessed. Cursed.
A cruel and ?beautiful game
Stuck in the in-between
Who doesn’t dream of opening up
An entire lifetime (or more) pouring out, free of the chest?
A hollow shell never so complete
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