Laying under an overpass.
All your broken hearts...
You've watched your dreams
roll and
fall and
crash
like an old beer bottle on dirty pavement.
Too many pieces.
Too hurtful.
Too dangerous to sort through.
Too impossible to be new.
So, we speak through this art.
Truth craftily disguised, a cover, a comforter to wounded, prideful souls.
Now it's vulnerable.
It's open.
All the things that can't be said in regular word-by-words.
But, nobody really knows. Sometimes that's a lie, sometimes the opposite.
O to go back to the days of possibility.
Leave
all the questions
the pressure
bending and breaking
Black and white blending into grey
Grass is dying, color's fading, light blinding eyes.
We've grown too thirsty in this desert
Too cold in this frost...
Is life buried deep beneath withered, frozen, broken forever?
Green is brown, black is grey...
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