it's hard to find a reason
when every crevice and crack
seems to hold nothing but false promises
and it's hard to see through the fog,
to read between the lines.
my mind, racing faster than a saturday night
I open my lips and
all I hear is muffled predictions
I am filled with hopeless restriction
what I built doesn't seem to make sense
as I dwindle farther away from
who I am
who I was
who I will be
fingertips,
numb to the touch
blind to the noise
searching for the foundation
to start again
YOU ARE READING
the inevitable
Poetryunderestimate, unfold, understand. the third installment from words better left unspoken
