What we feel
When we pronounce as; ‘we can’t’.
The wind that injects metamorphosis to the few
That sense disloyalty from their scapegoats upfront.

Tightens pain that we are supposed to befriend,
Stoically vomits lukewarmness,
Poking the truth to come on stage at the very end.
Punching us in the face as a migraine prowess

To awaken our dead senses
That only roars to life when lies diffuse.
Everyday is the last for someone else
Not because they want to leave but it is fate.

Whatever we feel should be run demo
Before trading out our precious coins for a death wish.
When narrating life this feeling of not feeling
Goes a long way in reminding us of the important part of living that we have been ignoring…