The problem is....
Now, the problem is this;
The problem has been and the problem exists.
We exist in a shift of time that’s never yours, or ever mine.
I cling to life like half sunk rats on driftwood.
Giving just enough to make sure that I’m deemed good.
By the majority whored, cheap laughs on idle time.
I hang my metaphors on poorly structured paragraphs, no patience, no purpose, no parlance but mine.
You gave your time, whilst I whittled mine.
Down to something weaker than the ink between the lines.
Down to something grey and something stained from something kind.
Inside I’m choking on a breath that’s half a gasp.
Out from the cold air, a cry and then a laugh.
A Kiss on Velcro lips that’s only sweet whilst lying still.
Anything between is tearing rough against its will.
Give me humble word, a hook up in my heart, look into my eyes and tell me I’m no longer part. Any single piece of me, I gave you every chance.
Searching for the light, you follow from the day unto the dark.
Now your dream has set you free.
That dream in someone stops.
It’s given all it had to give, I woke upon the rocks.
The wave is 8ft over me.
That dream, it never stops.
