I can feel the buzzing of my nerves So I chug it down hoping it will calm the storm I taste the sweet and bitter I feel the burn on the way down I like the warmth when it hits my stomach Maybe it can help slow things down for a bit Buzz my mind Make me sleep A sip here A swish there I think it'll do the trick Just don't tell mama she'll get rid of it she don't like it in the house I understand why The temptation is bright When you don't want to think
silence is loud when you're alone and it's not the absence of noise or the humming in your ear, it's something only you can hear and no one else it's constant and explosive and all around it's the uproar of your thoughts making all that sound
you can try and hush it, try to make it a nice place to be but you know another just comes and it can affect you, hurt you leave you in a loop— analysis paralysis now don't lose yourself in it break from that cycle, don't let it eat at you bit by bit
it's like a virus that spreads and starts numbing your body your mind'***** overload and just blaring, almost deafening... but still, you can never hear complete silence not even when you're alone so go rest your heavy head and escape from reality i'm sorry you have to do it again because dreams are temporary.
What does it matter, When I sit stiff in the dark Music pricking through my eardrums; Every single little strum of guitar string or a piano note; Swimming along through the bass clef lines The bassist, often undiscovered No person hearing his low, warm notes. His name is not on any Cover Not even in the 'artists' thoughts. But his every strum gets through Accompanied by a yelp from my throat The swirling snail in my ear Curls up tighter as the waves near, Fear. Paralyzed. in fear. The surge. Surge of thought No time to breathe No time to stop No time to think No time to drop No single remaining train of thought To listen to the bassists' notes. Instead, it's the dreaded screech; Singers voice racing through my head is too loud But my vocal cords never loud enough to make a pleasing sound A belching hound.
it let the bird fly, learn, grow, change. but when the bird falls, stays the same, decays, a thrill climbs up our bones as the crack of the wishbone echoes in our expectant ears like a loud, resounding gong - as our supposed fate awaits.