Hawks

I'm in orbit
Held by magnet
And the force fields
So much closer than love

Logic offers no defense
Underneath this influence

Stop the room please, I'd like to get off. I'm tired of the wavering spiral of spinning the same mistakes over and over hoping for a different result. I'm not stupid, I remember the lectures from since I was little. "Do you know what the definition of insanity is? It's doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result." Well, Dad, I'm insane. The reverse psychology worked. Fear is the great death, the kryptonite, the nemesis of motivation. Of change. And the world, oh god, the world is full of so many things to be afraid of, just in my own house.

I'm such a perfectionist. Always been so hell bent on doing the things I know how to do well. I have a niggling habit of doing what I'm perfect at over and over. But I have tread a hole clear through this plane, carved myself into this rut till I've caught fire from the constant friction of moving in the same place. I'm perfect at being comfortable, I'm perfect at lying. I'm perfect at thinking if I don't do something, I can't fail at it. I'm perfect at being afraid. I'm perfect at starting things I never finish. I'm perfect at telling you what you want to hear. I'm perfect at listening to music in the middle of the night and writing things that I will never let anyone else read. I'm perfect at killing an idea before it turns into something I can't control.

The sky is faint, their tears remain
In me the rain has stopped falling
The fading light, walls barely white
In me the night has stopped calling

I will not lament with the sky
No longer feel night on the inside

 How do you kickstart yourself back into progression? Heh... back into progression... that might be the problem.

Sow the seeds
Of everything to be
Safe in sleep
I winter in my dreams

Speak your words
Define my grief for me
Out of reach
Some things just can not be

It's stretching like a tear, yeah? How much is left on the page? Why do I always have to have the edges defined? I want a motorcycle, I want to ride it till I'm over my fear of the edges of things. Till all the roads blur into one road and they don't scare me anymore. Till the country can just be the country and not all in pieces.

I'm so sick of everything being in pieces.

I have to go find some Pink Floyd and bury this internal head back in the sand of trivial things, the roaring keeps me up. It frightens the hawks that circle, on wide wings, in the expanse overhead.