Put down by the pickup
on the things I say.
It doesn't matter anyways
until they just get in the way
and then they matter more
to who?
What patterns are you seeing?
Are things never balanced?
Just uneven?
Is that triggering?
One answer at a time
lest the mind take shelter
in fear.
Eyes that welter in tears
over years of discomfort
and each tier to overcome
for the simple sake of sanity...
Word with no depth is vanity:
an image moving in the mirror
with nothing meaningful
beneath the surface.
Word with thought implies purpose.
Intent.
Consent to one engaged in reality
instead of casually skirting by it.
Try it
and you're either repulsed
or rejuvenated.
You'll rebuke it outright
or accept renewal in a light
that shines that bright for a reason.
Like seasons,
the point between
wanting to and never again
will probably change with the wind
so it serves well to remain in the center.
Threw your words at me
with a chill cold as winter
with the hope that I'd remember
and therefore be hindered daily.
You openly wished
to impart some frailty
or reveal it under some layer
of superficial armor I'm supposedly wearing.
I'm hearing
and it seems
through the shout and scream
that you appear to be tugging
at the very sky above
in hope that it falls on me.
I viewed you and your tears
from your anger
to the fear:
Transformation amid clumsy sidesteps
and your missteps saw you stumble.
I watched it all crumble before me.
You should still be standing
before me.
I guess one had to survive
so that the other could tell the story...
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
an image moving in the mirror
with nothing meaningful
beneath the surface.
Word with thought implies purpose.
Intent.
Consent to one engaged in reality
instead of casually skirting by it.
Try it
and you're either repulsed
or rejuvenated.
You'll rebuke it outright
or accept renewal in a light
that shines that bright for a reason.
Like seasons,
the point between
wanting to and never again
will probably change with the wind
so it serves well to remain in the center.
Threw your words at me
with a chill cold as winter
with the hope that I'd remember
and therefore be hindered daily.
You openly wished
to impart some frailty
or reveal it under some layer
of superficial armor I'm supposedly wearing.
I'm hearing
and it seems
through the shout and scream
that you appear to be tugging
at the very sky above
in hope that it falls on me.
I viewed you and your tears
from your anger
to the fear:
Transformation amid clumsy sidesteps
and your missteps saw you stumble.
I watched it all crumble before me.
You should still be standing
before me.
I guess one had to survive
so that the other could tell the story...
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
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