To whom do we go when the blood is excitement personified,
with a hint of hesitation,
at the epicentre of unsettlement.
The positive abstains,
the darkness remains,
you wished to no longer know your name.
For only the best should do,
To do what you want for you.
how can we not test risking it being unclassified,
making it classless.
Emotions at a spill,
facilitated at will.
like the stone will,
nothing in or out,
for I can do without.
If only for another day,
begging the piles of smiles to stay.
The negative threatens to remain,
thus I tread further into the realm of the lame.
No cane to filter my bitter moments,
no dents to levy my repents.
Conscience growing more sense,
Isn’t this what it’s supposed to be?
although it’s growing to me,
the pains that sings,
the seeds that breathes,
the limbs and stems that make amends,
to compensate for the moments you wish to no longer relate.
To be relenting in your outgrown ideals to dissipate,
those are the highlights that draw blood while you are growing wings.
The beautiful echoes amongst the mountains and trees,
while your toes sprain,
the screaming pain,
threatens to burst your eardrums.
to the points its ailments is a sacrifice,
leaving you kind yet numb.
From whence you were the unsung.
Feeling into the quiet,
no noise please,
we wish not to be seen by trees,
their winds makes sneeze,
the moments one wants to cease,
so we up and leave.
Carnage from the pores,
I can smell it,
I can hear it breathe.
Homage to the moments that you outlive and the obstacles in your space threatening to inhibit your growth. Sometimes it unravels itself like muscle memory when you feel you’re on the verge of not only making a change, then there comes the outgrown ideals or thing you’re trying to leave behind out of nowhere to draw you back in. However, we keep on treading, until finally, the moments or ideals dissipates.
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