In every note of a tear
In every glare of a peer
In every limb that is seared
Another thought of demise made up of quiet cries and broken ties is neared.
How many times have you committed a “crime” and had your life on the line?
How many times in your eyes have you gotten ready to say your goodbyes?
How many times were the knives too close for you to be alive?
How many times has that occurred
With your quiet cries and broken ties unheard
With attempts of nearing the expiration date undeterred
With the chemical imbalances transferred
Stirred and stirred.
Why we are asked
Why we can unclapse from the ledge that is so tightly grasped
Why we are masked from the contrast of the past
Why can our last breath happen so fast?
If only we had a warm glow
A gentle blow from the cloud of woe
And even though
We’re in the low
We could always grow
From down below.