Lingering Traces

Waiting for something. You think you’ve missed your bus. Hoping for something that probably isn’t going to happen, not to you, not today, move along. Eyes searching faces for traces of prosperity but it’s gone out of season and your seasons to late for those traces to still be lingering. Heated discussions, you’re having in your head, with yourself, no one different, but you don’t dare shed light on the situation, for perspective is not what your in need of, you want out, out of the depths which lead to that dark spot in your mind, into a new sense of urgency. Hoping for technicalities which might absorb some of your faith, mold it into something stronger than hate, something to keep safe. Markings of accidental tales submerge your heavy heart into a lighter substance, and dosed in gasoline your willing to set flame to a conscience that has got you in a bind. Secrets misleading secrets. Hands trying to figure out the idea of something that just might be new, or just the same depending on your grip. Wicked stance for the crumbling personality that is pinpointing just when and where you will breakdown, strive, and survive. Try and stay alive for this is nothing but a game, no life ups and nothing to shield you from the pain. A look you cant wash off your skin. An introduction into pessimistic points of views, cloaked in tiny daggers so your alerted of the conflict your entering. Dark skies seem to line the ocean and what’s wrong is wrong and what’s right is wrong too. Feeling after captivating feeling force feeding you into a new wave place that you didn’t dress for. Gawking idealistic measuring your involvement, sizing you from afar, laughing at your mockery, an institution you weren’t invited too.