do we fail to understand our possibilities.
We linger around what we know is wrong
and avoid what we should be clinging onto.
Is it our adrenaline rushing through our veins
hoping, wishing, that what it is, is indeed right.
Or our rebel, that fights against all odds
that wants whatever it can grasp onto
like a leech, living off another.
I don't know what to do
the wind is blowing against me
swiftly taking away my energy
& I'm trying to hold on to
whatever I can, whatever I can preserve
of this long innocent perspective
in my own world of nonsense.
The clock is ticking
tick tock, tick tock
My palms begin to sweat
drip drop, drip drop
The vibrations of my heart
thump, thump
Is it too loud? Can you hear it?
In an instant glimpse, I see it...
should I stay, or should I go?
The brown paper bag
a symbol of recognition
to an untrained, endless thought
that lingers in the corners of my mind.
Then I find myself, standing, listening
to the mutters of life, hopes, & dreams.
Yet I don't understand why they are kept
in this bottled brain of this thing...
is it in that brown paper bag I suppose.
We converse, endless idea's, thoughts
but there will be nothing more.
IT, will merely be a footnote in the lines
of my composition, a character perhaps.
Simply thought of, yet not forgotten,
it was just that summer, once long ago.
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