The wind moves like a whip,
As if making way for a storm.
The field, a dull golden amber,
Leans to one side in the fiery weather.

The wind pulls me away from myself,
Freezing my saddened body,
But releasing my tortured soul,
Pulling to the healing grounds
That I consider this field to be.

I’m such a coward
I run and hide from opportunity.
My regrettable cowardice
runs through my blood fluidly,
Causing my own grief.

Maybe if I was brave,
Life would’ve been better.
But I am a coward,
And I could never be proud
Of where it put me now.

As I sit ever so still,
I seem perfectly calm.
But on my visceral inside
Erupts a magnitude 9.

Eyes as dark as midnight
Skin as Bright as moonlight

It appears to me that you're mentally ill
Here is some water to wash down that pill
Myself and my colleagues have all clearly stated
You need to be institutionalized and heavily medicated