Deaf Ear Symphony

The grandiose is my mask.

I lean on the knives that keep me grounded underneath.

Coffee grinds salt my wounds.

Solitude poises it's embalming embrace.

Smothering me in dirt.

Among the constant smear, blending my stained, and feeling-less thoughts.

Born wrong, Born low, excommunication is a minor threat.

Melodies trickle the airwaves; I understand nothing. 

I know who you are, but I am the voiceless wind. 

Vibes don't exist.

But I vibrate in real time the only thing that's real.

I drink in the atmosphere, and disengage the rest.

Always on borrowed time, breathing borrowed breaths.

Always in the wrong, terminated in thoughts I can't repair.

Fold my faceless form in the back of the book.

Forget the book on a bus.

Learn how to drive.

Crash that car.

The grandiose is my mask.

All I know is the dirt.

Bury me in the catacombs.

My feelings never flirt.