.
.
If I woke up tomorrow morning, and I could control the world,
I would stop the sorrow pouring. I would come for the girl..
I would flip open my phone, lift hope and, alone,
Whisper spoken atonement for the loneliness I've known..
But when the sun rises I finally see,
The sky may contain rain, but it's spitefully free
Of any condensation of my condemnations,
My contempt wakens and it heightens my grief..
Might I rightfully be broken hearted for life? I mean,
Hope can be broken clean open. I've seen
Folks who've grown old and imploded, crying
Till their throats were just soaked.. I felt their moans inside me.
The scope of dying sounds brighter than usual,
The notes that I sing sound tighter than usual.
Won't I be lively when I'm clothed for my funeral?
Tie and a nice ring? Powdered nose. Well, it's doable..
Hm....
The reason I kept bleeding was love that's unrequited..
The sun will sometimes hide, but none are keen to find it.
What I mean is life is sometimes trite and others, mean and violent,
We can find a need to hide, or we can weep and bleed in silence..
Can grow meek and scream at tyrants or sleep in peace. And I guess
We can be infinitely keen to come to dreams invited,
Or we can push away from sweet reprieve, deny it. At my best,
I've seen men fiend for vibrance and others leak as islands.
But one day, the pain goes away. The next page is blank.
The next step you make has no context to take.
The shell you felt around your heart? The hell you felt profound and sharp?
Well, you felt around the dark.. knelt to drown.. and now depart.
Cuz it does not matter how deep the wound is, or how dark the red,
Start with death. Then the bleeding. Then you start to mend.
.
.
