Everyone is infantile at rest.
Our years fade into a dream
And the layers of our age peel back with the fall and rise of each inhale/exhale of the lungs
We put down all our baggage
And we carry only what our minds can bear
The weight of our mental luggage is heavier than we imagine,
for we don't often carry it with our own two hands.
In stillness were asked to face ourselves and maybe that's why we have nightmares so vidid, chilling
And wild..
The darkest reaches open up and we are suddenly burdoned with a weight we can't carry so we make up wicked world's of wonder to solve our puzzles & queries
I realise It was never loss I feared, loss is easy to accept. Its the struggle on the other end of the stick that drags me back into the mud.
I hate to see those who cannot carry their burdons fall under that weight
My back has been broken under the weight of mine. It's hard to tell those you want to protect from hurting that the only way out is through this hell of their own making,
So I'm still awake and shaking..
Midnight dreary with a blade up to my neck to match the deluge lines I'd be drowning in.
They say a dog knows when he's going to die
He will run off to find a nice place to hide
But when he's not ready and the shadows closing in, he cries out for a for a reaching hand. A last piss into the wind, a final kiss to his master he found such comfort in.
But when everyone's running to hide and to die
The Lonley dog can only cry.
confused as to why his people left him and if he'll see them on the other side
Two steps forward
Two steps back
When the things that kept us together started tearing us apart.. is it the things that tear us apart that will save us in the end?