Oh please, less believe.
The strange thing is your confidence.
Your belief that you’d survive the understanding.
The knowledge that you yearn to have.
Your desire, that’s your weakness.
Your need for control, to understand, acknowledge, it’s an insecurity.
A fear of harm. Nothing more.
I guess that’s the ultimate draw.
The reason we don’t understand what we’re fighting for.
You see we both, we’ve both been there before and we’re scared of our own strength.
Drowning in those eyes and what then? Like the air I breath I don’t understand the unseen and unfound which I read constant as the world turns and I reach out.
Changing in swirls to voices that scream only the whiskey answers this half daydream.
Your face in my tablecloth – torn at the seams.
Am I awake? Or somewhere in between.
© G.P Williamson 2017