In and out, of rehab
I mean, most of the time, no one quite speaks literally.
They don’t know, they can only assume
of what it takes to shatter a soul.
What robs you of your sleep, probably, maybe, most definitely, what do I know?
Fragmented little puzzles, crossroads of the mind.
This piano, these hands, this rusty ol’ surface.
The out of tune, the mystery yet to swoon.
You can’t mold me, this telltale realm of space, my voice metamorphosed.
The margins within are so narrow, the wisdom of things scarce.
The fear of your own oblivion, you say you wait for nothing
but the gutless in you knows, that’s what you have been surrounded with
and so the familiar comforts in its veil.
This overflow of the conventional, makes me yearn for masks
aesthetically unacceptable, it amuses me.
The joyous music, the bitter tongue.
But then again, tenderness outburst,
defies brutal rage, beauty repelled at those that sought it only with their eyes.
You stare long enough at the gush, static motion
of paralyzing waves; this sonic rumble, and you understand.
The stronger they rush, the slower they recede
The dominance in the force, a halt in the hearts
In the eternity of a second, stretchered far too long, far too far.