It starts off something like a dream. A sunrise. The lights reflection off of the glass in the windows. The cracks in the pavement moving in minuscule dimensions. The city sleeps but it is always moving. Whether it's the cars, trains, buses, airplanes or people. Everything is in its grasp. For some, that is the greatest despair. For other's they just simply hold on waiting for the right moment to let go and return back to a place once called home.
They say home is where the heart is. So wherever you go is home. Until they send you a bill. A tax for the treason. The treasurer's debt keeps piling high and our starving eye's just can't seem to get enough. I need a lookout tower so I can see above the pile, but our necks are too short and our sticks keep poking our eyes out.
Then it all settles in, the doubt. The very destroyer of the dream within reality. The whole reason why I can never get past 5 pages of this shit. Why is it all I see behind these blue eyes of mine is broken faces, tragic places? The past keeps talking to me.
I am listening but its response is so deeply hurting. It's very subtle.
Only the naked eye and the open heart can see it.