The time directs and places my life dead and here.
To the tallest tree, I can hang even if the ground is clear.
I am feeling the train that is unyielding.
Like a knife in my heart that my own soul was wielding.
I distant to a party I had perfected and made.
Pretending it wasn’t on purpose but spontaneous and weighed.
I create for the mouths and hands stealing all my taste.
Hoping it will give me a feeling of a run that is raced.
I don’t want to write my pity and sadness to you.
But like my uncle said I haven’t found myself nor truly honest too.
I am polite and forward with caring I stand tall.
But missing a part of life that makes a man all.