Observation

Rhymes, Writings, and Confessions to Small Crimes

Observation

Running, without a place to hide…

Quietly, drifting away with the tide…

Eyes glossy from the nights of tossing and turning…

Hands trembling in sync with the stomach churning…

Head space that grinds on all gears…

Feet that fret with made up fears…

Generational concerns handed down within a pine box…

Heart chained and bound with impossible locks…

Comfort that continues to decline…

Along with the ability to “be fine”…

-Madamchryzl-

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