Ooze from the cracks between words.
No one placed you but insecurity.
But you're there and you're drawing my blood
anemic and hazed, the fog's not lifting.
Silence. Strangling me.
A days thought, a retrospective, introspective sleep.
Lucid Clarity burning me with guilt.
What words can break words can repair.
Should repair --
Isn't that what to cling to, how not to dispair?
The silence waterfalling through my ears.
The mark of the sight but not of any comfort, bodes ill.
There's nothing to do, sit and wait, reflect
to think. A circular feeling, I've been here before,
saying too much, saying too little, and saying nothing at all
Last updated: 2014-06-17comments powered by Disqus