Residence upon these brisked, tightly shut walls, made of steel and corn
Balancing the income of sorrow and outburst of gestures#
Don’t misinterpret this tomorrow, as the sun ceases to rise, with all but thunderous skies
My voice recognising its all just figure of speech yet
This feeling places itself upon my lungs, similar to a leech
It pecks, it resights and pauses.
I stare blankly, and continuously, upon faces which lack the identity to handle such dangerous-
I’ve explained how my thoughts speed up like
Fast and extremely furious
my slow, soft and pale lips can’t carry the weight of them.
Casket, or basket, filled with unidentified phrases,
cut off mid-sentence
They produce such turbulent motions,
Where recovery is definitely out of the picture.
When does this obstacle emerge into its ever tilting background
To create a peace known to overpower sheltered and stubborn fireflies.