It's a lock with a swallowed key
And I might have to vomit up crap
Before meaningful words come out of me
It's not depressing...
Like it always used to consist
It's just trying to change gears
In a vehicle that no longer exists
It's not stuck...
It's a reflex that isn't used as much
The clock still passes time
The hands are just out of touch
It's tough to hear...
Damn near silent with fright
It's trying to be everything it used to be
Wanting everything to be; I'll write
It's not forgetful...
It's a thought without sufficient conduit
Tangled in intangible darkness
Without a guiding light to find it
It's in love...
With what could come from pen and page
But terrified of something real
Trapped in effort's anxious cage
It's nostalgic...
Pained and pleasured alike
It needs coaxing through fond memories in one hand
While the other holds reality's spike
It's tough to see...
Damn near impossibly out of sight
It's trying to be everything it used to be
And everything will be; I'll write