Unwrap me from your finger
Erase each ounce of possibility
What's left is what is meant to be
Easy to fit with clouded sensation
Molded with forced form, comfortable for a moment
Meant to test truest frame, to that nothing can be forced in
The simple truth, meant to break what's never fit to be
No sense is made of unwanted answers
When they come so gently after living through question
But they come without a choice but to listen
Hoping to listen once and not hear it again
No comments:
Post a Comment