I can feel the words at the tip of my tongue-
High-strung
On the choice of a trigger- just run.
But there’s an acid in the air,
A taste that holds my hand to dare
To run away, to seek a fair
Opportunity, it comes to knock
Don’t rock
The boat- just float, we’re almost there.
Fate intertwined; ensnared.
Pen in hand I write a verse-
The curse a spur of tempting lies
Look to the skies
I see a way
To say
The things at the tip of my tongue-
High-strung
On the bullet in the gun
Targets that have run astray
And pray
To have these thoughts just stay
Because they ring of genius marred
And scarred and barred
And given hard
To tragedy and simple guard.
A vision of the first idea
An originality galleria
Displayed, on watch
A testing swatch.
But I can feel the words at the tip of my tongue-
High-strung,
I was,
And now I’m done.

