This whiskys words tend to come off as my own. 
I struggle for control over my mouth 
as I pour my soul out on the table. 
My words knocking over every cup and plate we spent so long laying out.

I hope my words can be heard.
I realize with each passing syllable that I know less and less of what’s going on. 
I try to find the things I mean most.
But I see my grip on life loosen as I watch our wine drip on the floor.

They say anxiety feels like a million bullets flying by your eyes all at once.
But somewhere, 

somewhere along the line things froze.
Now I’m watching the stains burn into our carpet

and I can’t move fast enough to clean up the remarks.

I watch the cracks in each plate form as they slowly hit the ground.
The frames of all our memories fall off the mantle as the ground starts to shake 
and every bit of my bones break while I watch the ceiling of our home fall apart around us.


Our walls mock the state of our dinner.
Want to move closer as we both run for cover. 
I want shelter in your arms,

but our last attempt at safety is falling down around our feet.
Now I can’t even manage to reach out.

Fight every muscle that holds us back,
we’ll push through years of falling gravel, 
swim through oceans of our tears just to grab hold of the shore together.

We’re becoming buried in our truth. 
Time is too slow to let my vocals chords speak 
now my eyes turn dry before my tears can even form.


And I say that I’ll wait,
for the calm after this storm.
I’ll try and find you again.
We’ll sort trough the waste together,

but for now I’ll pick up rocks. 
Start with pebbles, push over dust. 
I'll scrape my nails until they bleed.
Push through the dirt in this rubble in hopes to lead out of the hole I’ve buried us in long ago.

I looked for blame.
Scarred by confusions and secrets, 
never thought I had a reason to look at myself,
but now, 
Ive had a glance at the sky. 
And there’s still potential for daylight in my life.

So I'll keep fighting for the breeze.
Days where we forget who we are 
and just breathe on one level for hours on end.

 

Now I may be screaming for help,
but I won’t stop till I’m found. 
I'll look for allignment within my state 
to bring this home back to life.

There is no path to freedom,
more finding a comfort In the chaos. 
Let the colors of our blood paint the canvas in your mind. 
I want you to remember me, 
in the brightest of ways.
I want you to let every breathe add a rhythem to the brush

to prove that our efforts were always real.

I hung my stories in galleries,
and I’ll hang yours too.
I spoke hundreds of words to find a way to tell you I was trying.
Created soundtracks hoping they would all listen too.
I prayed it’d echo through this city to show you that I kept on going

because I promised you I’d make it out.
I Put my feet in the mud and let go of saving what was no longer there.


There are hands that’ll meet me to pull me out.
Ones who believe I can stand for just a little bit longer.

They repeat my words back,

push them down and through my ears.
Help me believe in the way I want to live,
prove I don’t have to be alone anymore.

And for once,

we can rebuild.
Not what is broken but anew. 
Start a new page in our life,
even just as neighbors.
We will have shelter to run to when the storms come again.
We’ll be strong enough to reach out.
To wipe the tear that led to the downfall of where ever this conversation was going,

because we know these storms are inevitable.
So it’s not a matter of pretending they won’t come,
but to be ready when they do.


It’s not for knowing what life will bring,
but being able to handle what it throws at you.

You, please learn to look at me as a lesson.
I’ll hand you every textbook I can find.
Memorize my lines,
help me flip through my own pages.
Learn to help me read myself again,
and I promise you,
I will keep writing

 

Coloring Chaos

May 2016

Put to the music of:

In the Open. - Angus Dawson