write about something positive just this once.
what if my head is a dystopic painting of the usual blacks and grays
i try to pick up the brush but my fingers shake
fumbling over words, the fading space and all the in-betweens,
tumbling over the stones i left unturned.
Am i too pretentious or just too messed up
Like a mesh of untied wires dangling at every end
This heavy feeling, as if I'm trapped within the cage of uncertainties
haunted by the whispers of what i'll never be.
I'll tell you about it if I ever get it straight in my head.
Ernest Hemmingway
be an optimist, people tell you
hope is a heartache you say, but those eyes
so aloof and so indifferent, on the surface
those eyes that burn with such desire when they look up at the sky
you're like a train wreck, a complete mess of words
chasing the stars in your dreams, sitting on the meteoroids
walking down the hallways with the music screaming within your chaotic insides.
You look at the scars painted across your body
The relentless red dripping down, right across the broken cracks
dreaming about folks and traits lost in your memory
You're screaming color, but you're blindfolded
by the fabricated world you spent years weaving around yourself.
You swallowed your share of shadows
All your words tinged with blue
Bottled up emotions, darting down the zenith of emptiness
you wished you never knew.
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