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Stale
I feel stale
Like a cigarette that’s been put out and relit too many times
An overcooked flavor of twice smoked dreams, fills every room.
When that blue haze of familiarity clouds my mind,
Add another coat of lipstick to the filter
I’m always plenty revved up
But going nowhere, fast
I’ve got one foot slammed on the gas and another on the brake.
Teeth clenched,
Bright white knuckles needless clenching a frozen wheel
But I’m tired of being stuck
And my poor heart is is ready to race,
That lovelorn prisoner, in solitary confinement, tearing against my chest…dying to break free from it’s prison of protection.
So eager to pump life through my world…if I’ll only allow it.
My days have become a house of mirrors,
I guess I get a little lost.
Always moving, but walking in circles
Like I cant see where I just came from
The reflections all feel artificial, like a picture of a faded picture
Seems like a simple maze, but every hallway just leads right back to the last sunrise
I’ll have to solve the riddle if I’m ever going to see the stars again
But I know fresh dreams ride the sun across the sky every day.
I just have to break these old reflections and hitch a ride
Copyright ©
Robert Franklin
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