Sitting in my car, waiting for the inspiration to bring me alive like a heartbeat.
The music feels dangerous and I love this. Contemplating; not the hazard of speeding down the highway ferociously but to drive at melancholic speeds sipping on a vile of cold poisoning,
The exact place of solitude that a good old song and writing can bring.
Wondering just how dangerous I can be, How much fear I can bring, just by being extremely hard to read and impossible to see.
She’s got red eyes.
A bit blue inside and doesn’t know why,
But her stride keeps gliding
Up before the sunrise.
Bleeding inside out and wishing for the pain to subside
A tricky soul with talents an inch short from amazing
But can’t seem to heal herself;
She keeps on
Running marathons with broken bones.
She comes out swinging,
Punching holes in the walls she herself created
Questioning the love she can’t seem to relate to
Hoping that one day that she will be a little less unhappy
And just a little stronger.