I see through tunnel vision; a funnel,
Which life pours through my hands.
I’m missing out on all that seems to slip;
Slipping right through my finger tips.
And I regret this fact,
That I did not have tact;
The fact I let this pass my shell.
And didn’t care what was truly inside,
A reprise of things to come,
Who’ll be of me beside me and make the two become me?
Dangerously daring to deal some sort of caring,
And understand my barings around me,
It’s me I am so hard up to find,
Or that “somewhere” I’d spilt my insides,
Jarred from being me,
Losing intrest in the nexus,
Gave my soul to a boy in Texas.
And I’m swallowing softly the singing of yours which sung so softly.
But I”d rather have me, than swallow you to replace me.
So lace me up in dreams,
Lacerating lovely longitudes on who I am.
It seems I’m who I am:
Looking for some meaning,
Seeming to be unkempt,
Fearing I lost myself in my intent.