Anxiety

The quiet grows louder
Silence builds and builds
Chest tightens harder

The quiet grows louder
Silence builds and builds
Chest tightens harder

And the quiet grows
Chest grows tighter
Silence builds
The quiet
Builds
The silence tightens
Chest
Louder
Builds and builds
Grows louder
Tightens harder
The quiet
The silence
The chest

The mind. The mind. The mind.

All around seems normal
But all is not the same.
You look around and wonder
Why am I looking from the outside in?

There must be a reckoning
Recovery
Result
There must be a reckoning
A Recovery
A Result

A way to capture sunlight when the clouds block your view.

Running from nothing, always running from nothing,
Running for something that isn't there. 

Show me how
Slow me down
Show me how
Slow me down

Running from nothing.

Separate the senses.
Hold them and listen.
It's going to be okay.
It's going to be okay.
Hold them and listen.
Separate the senses.

It's going to be okay.
It's going to be okay.

Blind the light.
Recognize moment.
Breathe through the hysteria.
Exhale confusion.
Inhale relief.

The place in which he lived

He clutches it tight.

The walls paper thin, but no light is let in.

Buried inside, its secrets sit entrapped and out of view.

Easy to carry around, not a struggle for you.

On the outside, its appearance remains the same.

Same color, same face.

All seems well.

But its wings are sealed shut, only opened to fill with what you conceal.

The weight thickens. It can no longer fly.

You can hardly hold what's inside.

Your grip starts to abandon your lifeless hands.

The final descent of it all begins.

The wings unravel.

The secrets escape.

It crashes to the ground.

Destroyed and crumbled, flattened.

A box when closed let's in no light.

When the fear settles in

The fear enters the blood stream -- my veins harden at the thought.
The doubt sews and ties the wires up above, but short circuits abound.

Smoke clouds sight.
It's no wonder it's called the nervous system.

Too negative. Too destructive. Too worried.
About a state of mind that tends to takeover.
A state I only tell you about,
for others eyes would roll at the suggestion.

About worry itself.
It's perhaps my greatest fear of all.
About why sitting still is one of life's impossibilities.
About why silence is often too loud. Too worried.

Front Row Seat

I wonder what you wonder when you wander off.
Your beautiful mind must see all the colors,
hear all the sounds,
connect them all with the stories you create.

As we circle the tracks,
the warm Autumn air trickles and lifts the soft hair from your head.
Each shining strand for every reason I've fallen in love.

I look at you while you admire the tunnel of trees - green.
Amazed at the changing colors - yellow.
Listening to all the sounds - choo choo, click clack.
They're all here for you, as I am, and you are for me.

Son, you are my universe and I am grateful to be in your orbit.
I circle you as we circle round this place, this day, this life.

You were first in line, as always.
The blue torn bench behind the engineer,
but no matter wherever this train goes, fast or slow,
I'm the one who gets to have the front row seat.

Lose Our Way

It felt like the days melted together,
like the way the fire burned through people's lives.
Like broken hearts forced to connect,
bonded by the will to survive.

Dizzy, I leave a week that felt like a month.
I question why we are surrounded by luck when others are crushed by despair.

The air so thick, it makes it hard to breathe.
A night darkened by evil makes it hard to see.

Where can we even go from here?
What's the point of moving on?
Some questions never find their answers no matter how much time moves along.

A clock is a funny way to tell time because it's always the same.
But sometimes time moves slow, turning hours into days.
Sometimes time moves fast, reminding us not to lose our way.