I can't create a god damn thing. I can't put down roots and I can't dream. There's a dark that lives inside my bones. I swallowed the sun but I'm still cold. I was born to ride the wind, tumble and turn, flutter and fall. But I've been pouring from the midnight sky an ink of onyx dust in oil fire light that said. You'll grit your teeth but you'll fall right off. It's just who you are it's all in your blood, you're so much smaller than you thought. I held my tongue but I just chewed it up. Am I better now that I let the silence say the things I cannot say? I found a way to put down my thoughts, but it takes my time and it steals my blood. I've got an anxious mind and a heavy heart they're both pressing at the back of my eyes. Heavy drink can't float the weight. No medicine could ease the strain. I'd take an easy out over anything, but seems the narrow gate holds the taste I'm craving. I watch my time just flying by, burning right through the nights. For more than my share of life my blue sky has been grey. For all the separation and my anxious engagements I am more than the sum of my failure or fear.