Are we ever going to

put it on display

That clearly unclear discomfort

that brings us soo much shame?

 

Can we ever stand soo tall?

Stretching thin,

-a brittle break-

 

As the grass grows tall,

we mow it down,

who's to say I'm not the same?

 

Fluctuations,

Dizzy-messes,

Falling on my ass.

 

Trying to start over,

cutting ugly grass.

 

Every time it's harder,

saying it will last.

When deep down in my psyche,

I know it goes too fast.

 

Maybe if it was tangible,

a weed that I could touch.

I could see the little flowering parts,

Something I could clutch.

 

But always it's soo fleeting,

always it's the same.

A dull -thump- of inspiration,

and then a worsening pain.

 

The breeze becomes a thunderstorm,

and we're washed away with the rain.