How long will I hold my breath this time;
Keeping my eyes closed so tight.
My heart rate slows, then turns on a dime.
I haven’t moved in over fifteen minutes and the lights are fading;
Despite this internal marathon.
It’s tough to read whether or not these procedures are perceived as irrational, contrived, or perhaps interpreted as they were intended: genuine.
I’ll wear my heart on my sleeve, just this once.
As though a mist of tiny glass shards is raining down;
Head down and run through this starchy maze as my lungs fill with moths.
If the scenario dictates that the pants make the man, I’ll own this town.
It’s a wicked pike (and I think I like it), and I’m watching as you’re losing face.