It's the calmness itself
It's the ice in hell
It is the cracking of this irritating shell
Quenching a thirst
Of which I can't take it's there
So I sit and stare
To what unfolds
So I sit and stare,
At this absorbing mold
Constantly longing, but not quite close
Reaching for answers
That I suppose
The urge has never left
And I hated that
Longing, but not quite close
Reaching for answers
I suppose
Either hit or miss
So hard to resist
Envy those who rest
Is restlessness for the best
The blood in me is itching
But the veins still intact
This will not be the norm
When gravity forms
It is engrained into my body
To have fear while letting go
This way it is not a burden
I seek to be free
Cause in this conscious evasion's deceit
Disappears the hesitation for me
Why, is it the thought that I forgot
Why, is it the fear that I am not