age and grey

i haven't quite let go
of words i said before
i wonder if you know
anything at all

things haven't quite moved on
although i'd wish them gone
if ever i would
have the chance

i keep my head sky-high
to try and see some light
to try to catch some air
there's nothing left down here
in the middle of this haze
i can't keep up the pace
and i fall behind
i fall behind

as soon as things get kind of grey
i'm gonna leave this place
and fall behind
again.

metaphor

Don't let my words fall to the side, they'll fill up the ditch in which I've tripped and fallen inside and I'm still waiting to
come down.
There are too many metaphors, and I'm managing the store of information flow, flowing through me and no, I have not forgotten you, you're the focus of each syllable and stress and simile like this.

linguistics.

This metaphor
our language bore
to keep us
neat and clean.

Experience
a dirty mess
has no place
inside our heads.

surface

If I’m standing on sand
You’re the shift at my feet
Picking each grain
and releasing the heat

If I’m standing on rock
You’re the cracks underneath
Scratching off fingers
and shattering teeth

When I’m walking on water
You’re the skeptical cloud
Storming the waves
and flooding the ground

When I’m gasping for breath
You’re the wide open mouth
Poised to swallow the sea
full of sweet salty doubt

It’s too calm beneath
the
surface.