Gripping the fickle, it’s like a vice
been held a captive audience
fading fast, cold as ice
staring through mirrored glass,
past the laughs are other forms
huddling and hiding from the past
trying too hard to last the norm.
That one moment of contact stretches,
breaks at the drop of a hat,
turns around and fetches
another face to fill that
hole that never fills fully
and empties out again.
Let go and into storm I’m riding
struggling to take hold amidst them
when there is nothing to hold onto
except hold each other hiding.
Drift and struggle inside the storm
perpetuate the myth
to function fully and feel the norm
to find purpose in being adrift.
I try to turn away
from the faces and labels
Eddie away from the names
and change the only things
that ever stay the same.
I would stand on two feet
if I wasn’t in fear of falling
I’ll meet you far after
I hear you calling
And let go again whatever we are.