I swallow my words and choke on the verbs,
As if freedom was an action and not something you heard,
These nouns of mine fill my mouth like wine,
I’m drunk with people, places and time
And I’m moving around to some places I’ve found,
Escaping a ghost that is still trapped in these notes,
Some broken chords, the confused words of some type of meaning
When I think I’ve slipped away, like the moon its last phase,
I come back to this page
And try to fill it in
I’m walking or strumming a reality I’ve lost,
Progression or simply moving
Haven’t given it much thought
Advertisements
