I don’t think so.
I don’t think you heard a word I just said
Delving tipping other where
I can’t believe I’m still here
Sitting facing a corner
Listening to the blood rain
Finding a way to make it clay
I don’t need the burden of rock
Nothing to chip away
Whispering from sore throat
In this office of burnt
I can’t hear my soul speak
In this pile of hurt
I give away my golden threads
That bind my reckless dress
Finding footing in all this mess
Knee deep in what I cannot keep
Finding solace in nothing
Churning yearning further more
There is no devil to explore
All the faces
Same places
Magnet ice
In shade rest is clear
Safety inside tips
Frost no longer on mirror
But my own two lips
Sacred re-sewing
There is no pulpit
Only gravel on my knees
I’d rather lay in glass than swallow before
I’d rather bathe in petals than lay dry in my own ears
I cannot debate my own chatter
The mute button is broken
I can only pour into myself
In the shade there are no questions


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