The French Revolution was a Hoax

Is this the way that you would have wanted it to end?

Leaving me running circles in my own damn head?

Trying to figure out every word coming through your mouth

and I’m drowning in hidden meanings striking like daggers in my back.

Is this how I’m repaid for all the things I lack?

There’s no one outside of this shell that’d be sooner to admit my imperfections.

Within the minute, I’m going live and I’m willing to broadcast my mistakes.

---

These motions, these changes,

they’re not moving or changing anything.

But inside every small moment, every moment where my mind opens up and the real voice is heard,

I feel a release.

---

This is how I’ll part from you:

Deconstruct.

---

Switching methods and modes too confusing for anyone to handle.

Any attempts turn into something sharp and loud music screaming about how fucked I am.

Every bottle dotting my floor and every piece of paper torn and scattered

testifies to how my grasp on reality is anything but centered.

---

These motions, these changes,

they’re not moving or changing anything.

But inside every small moment, every moment where my mind opens up and the real voice is heard,

I feel a release.

---

So I guess you either grow old and grow over it, or your roots will grow crooked and never break soil.

I asked up and down for instructions, but the author of my life story called in sick.

I’m under a guillotine and forced to choose between saving you or losing my head.

Anything that helps to get me to an eternal bed.

*

(this is an older one, and one I’ve shared to people a fair bit before. I think it’s a bit of a favorite of mine. Thanks for reading! ❤ Mitch)