A filament of the times, a weird fish
only in pieces when im fooled by fools
falling out of grip knowing every one of them leaves
and it turns us
and we stumble over rocks we have to tumble back over,
to places we never really left
Im in between time and it might be a fact of true being all i needed
caught in some white light , nostalgic to the pace of slowly poured coffee
at a shop with faces eager to be shined upon
mood of zero, a common ground to agree on
"are you empty? " someone whispers over a mask and a latte
you think about it, for a second.
You snap back to reality when the woman behind the register with the soft voice exclaimed,
"Sir, Are you, empty?, do you need a, refill?"
Thom hits a falsetto in the back, ground. The well lit life scene.
You are experiencing the feelin of a double meaning in your cup
falling out of grip, so i take a sip
and Im transported back, to more than a feeling.
More of the look of the walls, the the chairs, the table, and ceiling
We are fixtures.
We are fixed and placed in placed for broken souls to be made whole
We are purposed to pain, purposed through pains
so that the power still intact will fill the empty vessel
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