Everything is hanging by a thread
Everything is hanging by a thread, and it’s about to collapse. To no end, the mystery keeps the excitement up with potential beyond measure, with a promise that can’t be real.
And in that same boat of upheaval, that can’t be met, a word changes everything, a look makes the invisible seen, a whisper cries louder than your heartbeat pounding to the anxiety hounding you day and night.
Not sure how we ever survived this illusion of certainty, not admitting to its frailty to a world convinced it knows better, can be better, and for all mighty coming down from the heavens, it will be the best.
Resting in this place feels like a farce being told in stories of fantasy while being real and calling for justice to a savior that will never come.
Such is the day that the thread weaves and while it’s moving cleaves you by the side with a cut so deep the blood never runs out while never stopping either.
The secret is met in a dungeon, proud to be imprisoned by a jailor or jest — no one knows anymore in the ruckus of old playing to hold from you a hostage needing you to be nothing but…
Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~
🙏