Listen carefully, hear my cry
with smoke filled lungs and clouded eyes
I see your troubles, I know your fear,
your makeup won't hide it as it shines through your words no matter
how few and far between.
You can wash your hands and dry your clothes
but don't think this means we're over-
No person can steal what we've been through.
Those who look upon us with anger in their
breath don't think we hear their whispers,
malicious sighs that echo through a heart they've hollowed clean
with walls so large you would almost never see the rupture.
So still it continues to leak and slowly the emptiness
dissolves into a far utterance,
whoever said it wouldn't hurt is no more than a liar.
Fire at me slow.
I know your tired of repetition, with all these
useless games-
who is to win if uncertainty
is the only decision you've made?
So you look up to the sky and say
the butterflies are beautiful this time of year,
their delicate wings thin as tissue,strong as wax,
the irony bringing tears to your eyes.
What can such beauty bring but the shallow smile
of others who wish it to be,
what is such beauty when it can't quite fly away?
Such is the definition of hopelessness.
Where everything is misconception,
understanding is deception,
where in time is direction?
Fire at me slow.