call me a throwback
at the point where i've had too much coffee too late and my hands are nervous caffeine junkies shakin' for want of someone to touch or something to say. alone and the words won't come tho' i can feel 'em shifting right there, under paper-thin layers of this newly-acquired self-doubt and time. the bruises on my knees know this feeling better than i ever will and at two am they're sayin' to me, we've been pressed against this wall long enough, time to scale it or bust on through 'cause sittin' idle ain't doin' nobody any good. be brilliant. STAY TRUE. tell your spine the throb is worth it because in every notch you're tickin' off moments of small, personal victories; every letter puts you one cadence closer to that rhythm you'll resonate with in perfect pitch. the vibrations in my knees, my shaking hands, the stutterbeat of this heartsick hopeful, i hope m'stumblin' toward something worthwhile and beautiful, and it tastes so close to therapy.