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Center of the Innerverse
Polishing my atmosphere
With the clutter of the culture
And binding all my attributes
With the wonder of another,
I struggle in eternal grinding gears
To build a steady center.
Despite my ever constant falling flat
And the rows of rail spikes in my back
The loose and shaking bits of crystal
That glitter beneath my cynicism
They never seem to lose their luster.
But I find them hard to pick and choose
As my logic fights to dull them down
I know of pain and monotonous nothings
And I relate to each of them closely
That I hurt my chance to be so good
To turn to something bright and well
Find my health, travel far
And learn that life has truth to offer
Someone like me, without a core
To an innerverse in quiet, subtle, ruin
And to someone, or something
That can provide a center to my gravity.
