These walls have so much to say.
Bleeding through the color and the grime.
That sinking feeling when you pray.
Hands clasped, eyes closed tightly.
With tears streaming down your cheeks.
Cumulating in a sick puddle on the floor.
I've been shipwrecked for weeks,
now, at the bottom of my brain.
All I see are these old bloodstains.
In times of duress,
4 AM and I'm stressed.
Backtracking and I guess
all the times that you pressed
me to express something more than ***
made me all too aware of my inadequacies.
Limping down the path with my shoes untied.
What I thought was the way of least resistance
turned out to be a farce, a joke, a big ******* lie.
But now I'm on the mend at the end of the road.
Kicking up dirt and choking on erratic words.
Now is not the time to offer your verbal guidance,
it's not like they're something I've never heard.
In search of something more stable and concrete,
I start to feel them growing - the wings of a big, black bird.