of the tongue
and body
as it beats
the demons
of my own silence to a gentle hum –
a drunk laced
representation
of what the watching eyes
desire,
crave,
emulate
in their sacred spaces –
center stage
with every performer
abroad this conditioned
disillusion –
how it masks
all the confusion
for those that
jumped in early –
the lights
look so friendly
when you need them,
but it's you
who feeds
them –
and you die
without knowing it,
you cry
without showing it –
mourn, in distractions,
what could have been;
what could have been
if you didn't have
to keep on
searching –
the pen marks
rely on the same security,
lost in its
contrived purity –
the light is blinding,
but it keeps us from
rewinding,
reminding
our hearts of the pain
or the game,
all the same –
wanting too much
for no good reason -
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 7, 2012 at 6:32 AM UTC
of the tongue
and body
as it beats
the demons
of my own silence to a gentle hum –
a drunk laced
representation
of what the watching eyes
desire,
crave,
emulate
in their sacred spaces –
center stage
with every performer
abroad this conditioned
disillusion –
how it masks
all the confusion
for those that
jumped in early –
the lights
look so friendly
when you need them,
but it's you
who feeds
them –
and you die
without knowing it,
you cry
without showing it –
mourn, in distractions,
what could have been;
what could have been
if you didn't have
to keep on
searching –
the pen marks
rely on the same security,
lost in its
contrived purity –
the light is blinding,
but it keeps us from
rewinding,
reminding
our hearts of the pain
or the game,
all the same –
wanting too much
for no good reason -
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