unbecoming

Weathered, and growing older each day. Still restrained and hiding beneath my skin, nurtured to silence by an ordinary life, with ordinary steps, and so trained – an ordinary mind. These are the lives that claim us; these strangle the life away.

This sound drowns out all thought and whatever was meant to follow... sent beneath and below, ever deeper and under, and threaded through again. Songs like these carry over, repeating their thoughtless chorus, something spit forth in a single breath, that never seems to lose its momentum. These strangle the life away; whatever's left can carry on.

You think you know what's behind these eyes? Something that doesn't even know itself... that can't even find the strength to breathe, or the sense to pry the hands away. You think you know what this means - or could mean, if only things had been different? If only there was a chance for something more than what is. Whatever's left can carry on; I just wonder if I'll be there to notice.