Trust is stained on my lips, my hands, my heart. I can’t help but allow it to depart. Now in these single days and hours that feel so long, perhaps there will be a time when trust won’t feel so wrong.
In everything I’m meant to be, writing will be solace for me. Something comfortable and clean. It won’t ever be mean.
In the absence of cruelty and the essence of confusion, I don’t understand this particular intrusion. My fingers on my pulse and my hair up in a bun, maybe this day I’ve won.
My heart beats steady, just like it should. Beating to the rhythm of the melody within my own head, perhaps it could. And in these darkening nights and haunting curtains, perhaps to be comfortable, I would.
In this silence that encompasses reality, there’s just something that can’t touch this simplicity. It should be complicated, but caught within I know I was wrong. Indeed; I did write this song. And now in every direction I turn, for you it is that I yearn.