grabbing tight, and stretching thin.
Your existence clear from inception,
you arrival clear at the mention.
My soul your food, your body and life
the unseen wounds sharp as a knife.
My bottles, my trees can't save me here
even at best, you're away with a leer.
You are the ocean, finite and not.
I am the other, so I sit here and rot.
Drowning in pressure I only see blue,
one bad night and that's your cue.
So do I sit and wait on the clock,
or do I face you, here with my glock?
Looming and glooming you wait to arrive,
holding me back where I'm trying to strive.
You show the end, nothing but doom,
holding me back, here in this room.
Those golf balls are hollow, though firm to the touch
as I lead with spirit yet fall on my crutch.
Invisible to all but those you take,
Yet every life you somehow shake.
You are the ocean, you are the sea.
What am I, Why can't I be me?
No comments:
Post a Comment