April

THE WRONG JOLT OF CONVENIENCE

It’s indescribable, undefinable
But it’s something, that gut feeling
It spells disaster fashioned as doom
But it’s too scared to stand through
In the middle of truth, lies scream
Shouting in a voice so unclear
That the audience hear only echoes
And see nothing of the noise that slips.

There are too many uncertainties
Right in the middle of trivialities
That say hello from no side
Only waiting till it’s twilight
And they can jump out like ghosts
Too long hidden in the cupboard
But set to make the grand entrance
Before death rings the bell for slumber.

Except this is just some invincible joke
That treads your mind’s walkway
Looking for some coins to steal
Or maybe even all the peace
Except this is only suicidal in and out
Some prank to break the neocortex
And set the amygdala in motion
To begin a flight with no destination.

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