A Plea For Purging Skin & Bones
These wheels are turning in my head to slowly go where
I'd rather be instead.
Laying low.
Skin and bones we know, made of stone move slow.
These are the days fear takes its hold around my throat.
Lost is the chase.
Giving in to distance left to go to make it home.
This heart is bleeding in my chest from letting go.
I just can't stop from needing hope in a better place.
Instead somewhere to grow.
I wish we could start leaving.
Hands and feet won't move.
All these things we'll lose.
