Sometimes I think I can fix things with words.
That I’ll make some sort of poetic justice
For the pain I feel and people I cannot heal.
That the landslide that falls between my brain,
Will become whole once again.
Filling it with tautologies like they’re glue
But they cannot bind what’s already destitute.
Eventually they’ll snap
I’ll come undone
And the landslide that’s found it's home in my brain,
Will slip through my lions and bring new meaning to pain.
Maybe I need new ways
Or maybe I need fate to fix what I’ve been writing away.