Too well dressed for the witness stand.

[Pill]ow Talk.

Pillow talk tales of starless night skies,
And the haunted times we had to say goodbye,
The motion of the sky is breaking me,
I’m thinking maybe the world should just let me be,
The things the brick say as I throw them,
At glass moons and they fall like broken gems.

Scattered diamonds on the grass sing the songs,
Of all the broken minds and the wrongs,
That lay strewn on the theatre of my whirlwind mind,
Hidden behind the white Venetian blind,
It sings slowly testing my chemical sunshine veins,
Which might as well be archaeological remains.

The bright summer isn’t that far away you said,
But on the contrary the trees are still dead,
And the northern downpours send their bitter winds,
To twisted and confused misfired minds,
Sat on the rock bottom of the Middle Meadow Walk,
Wondering one day it will be easy to talk.

Truth be told I’m just the objector to the war in my head.