Deep, deep down, in the shallowest depths,
I’ve placed all my bounced checks into perilous bets.
While I outline the edges of subliminal threats,
I hit the jackpot of flashbacks of cherished regrets.
So I sing all the poetry I cannot write,
And I paint all the poetry I cannot sing
In hopes to sculpt poetry that cannot fade, that cannot blur, that cannot sting.
Had I known that the quicksand would be this slow
I’d have waived you goodbye as I shook you hello.
What happens in vagueness stays in vagueness.
In an odd twist of fate, all the coping mechanisms
Turned out to be worse than the actual problem.
And only after walking on the moon yourself
Do you realize all those steps backwards
Are actually just part of the dance.
No amount of serenity helps you accept changes you don’t know about.
And having the courage to change it is reductive if you still ask permission.
Knowing the difference is wasted when all you can do is watch.
There's a subtle wisdom in what isn’t said.
All the sacrilege is in a co-dead language at this point, the words left on the doorstep that can’t and won’t be used against you in the court of law. A strand of hay in a stack of needles. Only in riddles is the truth ever comfortably being talked about anymore. Were it not for the fear and the loathing, gambling this way would have an allure. Were it not for the bet I made, the casino wouldn't exist
