second-rate skies standing solitary frozen in their own mediocracy conforming to the wills of majority because I'm bored out of my mind
fingers tracing the swirls on the ceiling feels like gravity herself is competing and all I'm doing is moving, listless I guess I'm out of time
so maybe I'm a little distracted like particles of light are refracted perhaps just a little compacted from the cages you call fine
living without joy is no policy so they make it out of complacency questioning the laws of morality and answers by design
but I'm reading all the words that aren't written and suddenly I'm willing to listen the stardust we're made of will glissten because freedom I will find.