A long highway of this vicious cycle
A million, billion, trillion, gazillion turns
Only to find myself at square one
Unable to step off the shattered glass covered path of nostalgia, mistakes, regrets; sheer imperfection.
And so I float, bumping against the transparent fibre glass walls that’s keeping me trapped,
subconciously enraged, subconciously frustrated.
My feet bleeding from that involuntary march with arms raised up
Surrendered to the succumbed force of the remorseful continuity.
The negative flow that makes up my pessimistic personality.
Then with an invisible hand, you tug on my arm, my leg, my neck, my hair.
A tug turns to a grip, the grips turns into a pull.
Yank. Jerk. Haul.
My fatigued soul wielded into your firm grip.
The impossible turns into the possible
The pessimist turns into an optimist
You are an epitome of a devious angel
Wind under my shattered wings.
What is ludicrous turns into a pragmatic desire.
Blinded by this nostalgic posture,
with the roots of its stance implanted deep into me
The nostalgic tremore embedded into my intoxicated head.
Your grip pulls me, heaves me…
Enticed into changes
Enticed into reality
Enticed into emotions
Enticed into optimism
Enticed into Crossover.