Things Change

You are as stagnant as the waterfall painting in a waiting room. Internal turmoil redefining struggle as an infinite cosmic loop. They can smell the metals at work in your skin bonding with electric air and paranoia. Drops of blood finally fall to tongues and taste of darkened rooms unfounded accusations abject sympathies and a life that is surprisingly lonely. At odds with the light at the end of the tunnel, Friends appear in varying degrees of fog and uncertainty- They've stolen your light despite tumbling tremors in searching fingers You can't find the switch and you don’t recognize this illumination. It's been so long you've forgotten there was ever a door. The setting sun smells like wet smoke and breezes tickle and warp what you thought you’d forgotten- there is calm in the mixtures of sun in grass of eyes in the field of self lost in memory. No one can survive alone. The children keep growing The sun keeps setting The needle keeps spinning And we keep going.