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s i r May 2019
The noise of silence comes for the weary,
A lullaby for the restless soul.
Some say sleep is for the wicked,
But wicked is sleep for it often escapes us all.

I dream to sink into darkness that warms me,
Cold is the light of the windows of the earth.
To find comfort in the void that envelopes me,
the lightness of being, rid of the heaviness of the world.

But the day will break before my peace,
And a piece breaks within my mind.
While the pandemonium of life slowly creeps back in,
And alas, sleep has gracefully made its escape again.

Written by s i r and r m b
Written by RMB and SIR
Taru M Dec 2012
They call me present hedonistic
I don't let the crumbs of today's meals compile
I merely brush them to the floor
leftover chips aren't for bargaining wars
I go all in every night

Once shown a glimpse of my future
it was hazy
I guess I'm just near-sighted
see, my life is a roller coaster
but full of ******* highs
the screams I've heard alone could make you ******

I understand that you live for tomorrow
but tomorrow is never promised
unbirthed daybreaks are a wishful dream
and abortion rates are high
deathsots ring through midnight

so yes...
I put all my eggs in the same basket
at least I can see here
I can see now

you idolize hope
but deal daily in dispair
my hope is in instants
instant gratification
mortification is unknown to me

I act before I think
because fear is a thought
and life life is meant to be lived
not procrastinated

They call me *****
I'm always thinking about tomorrow
I don't see life as obstacles or
hindrances to better life

life for premature babies, they call me mother
death at my feet
I pick up this bag of bones and begin to walk
kissing new life as if we were lovers
distant but familiar soulmates
tonguing down canals of new hope

they call me life
rewind back
I understand where my past was rooted
color diverged into verbal genocide
were we even supposed to be here?
eyes dilated from false substances
                  how do you differentiate
        how do you differentiate
                            how do you differentiate
                 false gods
          wishful thinking
clocks with forgotten time
take shackles off off your mind
allow time to heal worlds wounds
each day
is last breathe in battered corpse
taking chances is belief that God still exists

This is all just time
through dyslexic eyes
past footsteps
             by future winds
airy in the breeze
quick to sway from the unknown

let your present be concrete sandcastles
but know
there is always room for renovations
we build to be broken down
so we lay sturdy foundations
Past     Present     Future
this is all just time
*moments are what you make of them
This was co-written about a year ago by my sister, Breanna Walker, and I. First piece I ever performed.

— The End —