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I'm down below where the floor is out of focus, |
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Pent up and played down, rained in and worn out, |
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Picking away at the studs in the boards. |
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They're all too familiar. I've been here before. |
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The air is like lead and I've swallowed what I've said. |
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I'm a broken machine and a match already burned. |
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I'm quiet, all despite the raging in my head, |
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Collapsed inside and out until my strength can return. |
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I'm undone. All I know is the weight of the world, |
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So empty and so uninspired. |
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Sorrow and sleep and disbelief, |
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Caught up in the weight of the world. |
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I'm down below where it's silent and it's safe, |
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Resounding with the question of "Where to, from here?" |
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I know my direction, I know what it takes, |
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But I'm weak and I'm weightless with everything to fear. |
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I write about what's real to me when all I feel is make believe, |
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But I won't say there's nothing left. |
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There's everything, but just out of reach. |
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I'm not helpless, I'm not hopeless. |
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But I don't believe in hope on it's own, |
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No spine and no substance. |
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It's time to see the floor sink around me, |
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Pushed down with my two bare hands and |
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Now I'm stronger for whatever comes. |
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Let the blood rush, as I rise to my feet. |
