And infused fears like fables in the depths of your bones
Where utter silence can't pull out darkness and extract minuscule beads of light (in the presence of art without the knowledge of many journeys).
I've written too many stories not to break the soil I stand on, to which what firmness may lay and forever crumble at the beating of broken hearts.
The fraying of your earthly shell keeps me mellow inside; reminds me that I'm going soon and no one will realize.
Sometimes it gets harder to exist as opposed to considering existence, to which the staccato beats of phantasmagoric dreams lead me astray... The jagged edges of too many broken hearts beating at once tells the time clearer than broken microwaves, (Where I keep endless mouths closed as I am forever opening).
In the hidden beds which you sold your silence; your bones creak louder than mattress springs as legs unravel. (Grow out your quickening hues and leave the years behind.)
You forget to cry at all the wrong times as the fearing of light beads constructs something like a mind inside your skull (and echoes shrill laughter).
The keeping of a million shut eyes closed is more strenuous than the nonexistence of light in fables untold.
~ Breezy
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