Saturday, September 10, 2011

Save the Date

Bound by inhibitions
I sit up and raise my hand
I like the sound of my voice, to often, more than the words
The voiceless, invisible white noises resound
A blur of too many devotion-lacking nights
And whispers reserved, now dead

Yes, it was something you said
That made me want to curl back into that bathroom
Where I'd look out the window, onto that street
Envision walking down that road,
And never looking back

The funny thing about feeling victomed
Is it comes from you, into others
It's like, genetic or something
Whatever, no one cares, poor me
And she says it now because she likes the sound of her voice

Yes, it was something you did
That makes me want to shackle my hands behind my waist
Already enslaved
At least I can say, "I make my own decisions",
And never looking back

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