This morning's sober eyes strip away the dream haze that lingered from nights spent wrestling multiple visions into a formed direction,
This morning's sober eyes strip away the dream haze that lingered from nights spent revealing where vision once burned fierce and full of the promise I desperately needed,
This morning's sober eyes strip away the dream haze that lingered from nights I push against admitting the fall from grace that leaves my heart raw and questioning everything,
This morning's sober eyes strip away the dream haze that lingered from nights spent, am I ready to face how far it really fell when the truth cuts deeper than I want to feel,
This morning's sober eyes strip away the dream haze that lingered from nights regretting tight hope around what I thought was gold now tarnished by the light of much clearer sight...
The thrill slowly dissipates like air escaping from a weary lung after a burst of life, into something that refuses to breathe back and survive,
The thrill slowly dissipates like air escaping from a weary lung after a burst of life, every line now mocks the hope I held so close through sleepless hours of doubt and looking for fragile daring,
The thrill slowly dissipates like air escaping from a weary lung after a burst of life, fighting tears for the self betrayed in haste and chasing illusions that crumbled under deep scrutiny,
The thrill slowly dissipates like air escaping from a weary lung after a burst of life, why can't I let go of what it was inside when the outside version wounds me so completely far beyond I can see and comprehend,
The thrill slowly dissipates like air escaping from a weary lung after a burst of life, the hollow echoes of excitement that once screamed are now silenced by the weight of my own inner passions...
There is a cold that arrives after the making process, when the heat of the creating has passed and what remains is just the thing itself, quieter and smaller than it felt in the hours when I was still inside it,
There is a cold that arrives after the making process, the completed masterpiece standing exactly where I built it, solid and finished and somehow emptied of the warmth that made every decision inside it feel inevitable while I was still creating,
There is a cold that arrives after the making process, shame heats my face as flaws scream undeniable piercing through the defenses I built overnight,
There is a cold that arrives after the making process, does seeing the mess prove I'm growing at all or just confirming the doubts I tried to silence in between,
There is a cold that arrives after the making process, and it costs me the fragile win I built toward so carefully, leaving it buried under the honest inspection of a finished structure that looks different once the urgency of building it has finally left the room...
That inner glow flickers out in harsh daylight that reveal every imperfect angle, and I am left standing in the full and unforgiving visibility of something I loved in the dark that I am only now being asked to defend in the light,
That inner glow flickers out in harsh daylight that reveal every imperfect angle, leaving the raw truth of hands that couldn't match the soaring intentions my mind had promised them,
That inner glow flickers out in the harsh daylight revealing every imperfect angle, I resist the urge to scrap everything born from the pain of seeing my limits so nakedly clear,
That inner glow flickers out in harsh daylight that reveal every imperfect angle, how long until this pain sharpens what I make next, turning disappointment into the quiet and unasked-for wisdom that only the finished and imperfect thing could teach me,
That inner glow flickers out in harsh daylight that reveal every imperfect angle, and the bruised heart learns what no finished and perfect thing could ever teach, Reshaping. Refining. Breaking me open at exactly the seams that needed to give where the glow will return, It always has…
Watchwords:
Morning's sober eyes strip haze
Thrill deflates slow tired lung
Felt alive last night scrutiny
Inner glow flickers harsh daylight
Raw truth hands couldn't match
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream:
