Psychological Activity
Broken like black and white film.Strewn across the table
I can be as dark as hell
Or as bright as an angel.
Heaven’s gates are closing up.
I don’t have a choice.
Something isn’t right here.
I don’t have a voice.
I’m losing all my bedtime stories,
Sitting on the shelf;
Losing all my memories,
Lingering in my brain.
So, if I had a melody,
To take back what I said,
I’d regain composure, Walk the walk,
And scream my pain away.
Imagery they tell me;
Lies they tell me, too.
Well, one day I will see them;
Not them all, but few.
Everything’s a mess.
Even this piece of work.
Nothing will be edited though,
‘cause I don’t have a choice.
Stomping isn’t necessary.
Crying isn’t either.
I would say ‘get over it’,
It’s not that easy to be her.
The one in the flames;
The one in the dust;
The one in the ashes;
Screaming for a voice.
One day I will find it,
Pour out my heart and soul.
Nothing will surround it;
Except for you,
Me,
And the film
this is on.
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