rocks in my pocket
rocks in my pocket sleepy stories
  •   1 comment

sewalcher and I ran, I ran so far away
Autoplay OFF   •   2 years ago
Who I am right now, depends on what I do.

rocks in my pocket

Thoughts drift in and out like ocean waves,

coming and going through the static channels in my mind.

I'm often wondering what day it is,

then counting down the days until my brain's static station,

actually picks up a frequency.

Bare minimum necessities keep my days moving

while I over analyze my through my nights.

I want to tell you I'm sorry, but I'm too ashamed.

I can hear you talking to me, I can feel you setting next to me.

You're reaching for me.

While I know you're speaking, the static gets so loud I can't hear, I can't see.

White noise in my head, leaving me alone setting beside you.

What am I?

Born with ambition, and highly praised through my adolescence,

now I sleep away my youthful days.

The static in my mind becoming louder, and more grey.

Walking down every avenue in my subconscious trying to find something.

Something that's been lost long ago, but when?

Searching for some identity that makes sense,

because who I am right now depends on what I do.

I am good at many things, at least I pretend to be.

When it comes down to what I am, I have no clue.

Who, is another good question.

Because who I am depends on what I do.

What do I do?

I'm setting on the edge, waiting on flight.

Meanwhile I'm underwater and I'm finding it harder to breathe.

I'm the one keeping the rocks in my pocket.

Slowly drifting back into the deep white noise.

Days can be lighter, and some nights well slept.

The inevitability of sinking never crosses my mind.

I just find myself deeper with more stones in my hand.

I used to be well spoken, a commanding presence.

I'm shying away, slowly detaching, until no one even knows I'm here.

Quietly contemplating every move I make, every word I say.

Over thinking to the point silence has fallen.

Blending into the wall paper and furnishings, weeping invisibly.

My screen is blurry, right in front of my eyes.

It's as if what's inside my mind doesn't want to come out.

Hushing me, distracting me, keeping me down. My focus is gone.

Falling asleep off and on while I'm trying to tell my truth.

The static rocking me gently back into the deep,

filing my pockets while I sleep.

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