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Druse
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In the Room with You
Face down,
life began anew in the back of someone else's car.
I found a whole world of brinks that I hadn't lived on yet.
A lifetime of floors to pass out on,
docile and pillowed in my spit.
Pay witness to my craft of confiding in familiars,
pleading off all my guilt,
embarrassing every person that I came with.
Love springs eternal from the wreckage.
But even after the fact,
I'm still looking for some logic in the static.
I'm searching for the structure of everything that breaks.
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And I have a feeling there's some sort of reasoning here.
Something I can blame for my shortness of breath,
embarrassed fatigue,
every bone broken,
and I think it might be whatever I want it to be.
Did you feel different when you woke up today?
Do your hands shake every time that they're used?
Does that scare you?
Because it scares me.
Tell me what you can believe in.
I still believe in all my limits.
I believe in the way that we ache.
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