Every heartbeat is another fraction
of this cliched inspiration that laces through our days.
Tied to this earth, upon which we rest,
slipping in and out between shades of darker grey.
And everyone is faceless,
in this nameless, shifting crowd.
Because everyone is screaming out,
and yet...no one dares to make a sound.
All the wings are broken;
angels imperfect in their self-inflicted design.
Ne'er satisfied with controlled chaos,
always colouring within this society's lines.
Within in this place where we live,
every lie is not what is percieved.
The grass is green...but sadly dies,
as do our faltering dreams.
**Mwahaha. But I know a way out of this world...God. :)**
