I can't seem to put a finger on it,
the resonance of every memory
a trickle of fear,
as vast as an ocean
contained by an anxious tongue.
As with a heightened state of anxiety,
my thoughts scatter
and the ways of old surge within me
only to make me realize im the last one of my kind
but I cannot let it die...
and i won't
So I move around day to day, feeling sick
nothing in particular excites me
reprimanded for something i don't believe in
or what i do not want to create
and any ways of self expression are questioned
....in the fullest degree
what I create with my hands is so precious
something you can't quite grasp
For me there is no place to hide
So in my troubled head I will ask
What exactly is left in me?
what does it take to set me free
i'm feeling like my soul is dying
and i can't see the light
For every day I go through my mind
is one more day I'm tied to myself
never reaching my potential
but closer to reaching yours
and I just want to reach mine...