For my demons have caught up to my internal dialogue of prison,
And my teeth with rot in thier sockets with nowhere to go,
Cause here I long to say something,
Anything, cause Im stuck driving through this prison,
The man that sits in the front seat,
I really don't think I know him,
Just a sweater and a couple rings,
That only grip the wheel,
Knuckles white, gripped tight, as
You say you recognize him
Nervous, he giggles in the passenger seat, crying,
You see, he's lost in the aux painfully hiding the back seat slumberous growls,
Be it our hearts chained to our internal prison, that we ran from.
Cold, the rattles of two opposites,
One creeping around the seat,
Hot to seek growth, eagerly warming,
An the other sunk back escaping out the window, glued to the hard red's horizon outline.
Both shattered, scattering like doe,
As avalanches rumble like speakers
Exhausted in the backseats,
Tossing, needing reassurance, I slumber. Distracted, I am all bit comfortable. Retiring although far too easy, and finding no rest. But my exhaust doesn't at all understand why I struggle to stir awake and always i find, the rest are uneasy.
YOU ARE READING
When Sanity is Lost
PoetryAnd I just couldn't stop, before I knew it I was picking the pen up again. My second book in process this is soon to begin editing once my last one is done. As always hope you enjoy and find my insta @these.are.true.feelings
