Day: Aug 7, 2020

There are these full circle moments when the drums stop ringing in your ears,

The sound paralyzing your every move turns into a river washing out your fears.

But you can’t stand up, can’t raise a hand to greet the overwhelming sun

And the mountains seem golden, yet you’re careful about letting go of the gun.

There are moments where you reflect on deflecting your whole past and present,

The bass is penetrating your heart muscles because trauma isn’t pleasant.

Skull pulsating harder than a carnival stage filled with betrayed manic rebels.

Anxiety-driven you rush through the memories, climb brave through the levels.

There are moments where killing your mind with noise becomes a simple mischief,

But you pull that trick way too often so it grows into a cult, you bury it like a christian.

You might need a decade to ditch the part where attacking your senses feels fine.

The longer you ignore that pain, the more likely you’ll turn it into a dystopian novel

with rhymes,

like mine.