Bridged


The more we tell ourselves that it'll be okay
The more hollow the words sound
Like banging a stick upon an empty metal basin
The dull reverberating thud
Empty and slowly vibrating
Through pinched lips and a pressed smile
Empty eyes with a soul who's dread
Stretches from our bed to our head
Tethering us to this reality
The one we've sculpted for ourselves
From the clay of possibility
Dried in the kiln of being alive
Through whispered reassurances
Our own words become unrecognizable
Just something to drown out the sound
Of a breaking heart with every beat
Allowing our ornery blood to flow
I say it's okay
You say it's okay
We say it's okay
But, it's not is it?
We hide behind words the way we feel safe upon bridges
There's always a little doubt
But we're told it's sturdy
and it is, isn't it?

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