There’s no scar keeping you from talking
no magical “silent key”
that only “they” can hear or receive
your happiness chemically disguised
and equally despised
the chaotic disposition forced leaning
on a geographically convenient tool
or any fool that will fall...then fail
i’ve read those same words
week after week after week
those very same thoughts
and actionless notions
there is no magic potion to soothe
or play dead
***(play or hum theme here )***
that cleansing blanket of white
100 backwards hops
for every step forward
a quartet meant for drifting or dreaming
an ice-storm in three movements
there are no horsemen for this particular apocalypse
just another series of deleted scenes
motionless
and waiting.
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