I am here and I am gone.
Sometimes I come in strongly,
sometimes I am nothing more than a whisper.
You see, my life is like a little red radio.
Shifting, yes. Evolving, no.
Stating my momentary pleasures in a hot seat,
moving with a quiet current of low mumbles.
There are numbered stations for my feelings,
controlled by that little red-silver tune dial
that chooses a separate mood for every moment.
Moreover, the volume dial,
telling me when to keep my mouth shut,
to be static in the air that the atmosphere rejects.
and sometimes, making me feel the stations
through a door slam or a "*******."
See, my life is like a little red radio,
always caught in between two stations.
I apoligize for how terribly depressing this is. I'm going through some things