Sunday, February 16, 2014

Cold Silences

Lost in my mind
Most of most times
Just until I'm told we're alright

What is usually thrown in the ditch
Is what usually starts the itch
Then the teeth are bared
And no feelings spared

Breathe in, hold, breathe out
Close my eyes, drift through the clouds
Not sure where I am headed
Not alive, Not dead

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