These shoulders of mine are growing tired from my not growing wings
the anchors on my feet start to blister
Mister time is taking a ride
alive i am
everything is so very bland now and days
the polish is chipping off my claws
**** the feelings and knowledge is chipping from my head
why can't i write no longer
why can’t i feel no longer
did my hands fall off
did my head fall off
who am i

if it wasn't for the thrill or to even remotely feel
i wouldn't do drugs they ****

let me wash down those happy pills the hospital gave me
with a swig of numbness to my emotions only to make myself stable
to not feel
to not self sacrifice
to follow the systematic process that takes “time”
waiting and waiting for my wings to grow