B Scott

Our beats are limited in a countdown to dust,
Yet we remain pawns in a conflict of reality- all sinking just the same.
Where are we now?
Broken down into fine pieces of inauthentic light,
Dimmed by the battle for breath while we waste away waiting.
Embraced with open arms the illusion of fight
To sit around, not knowing if the moment is right.

Our passions are painted as poison and we’re blindsided from reason.
We’ve achieved nothing but loss of control.

We’ve sold ourselves short to the fallacies of man – and for what?
An indulgence to the promised land?
A sip of wine and a hole in the hand, and we’re all safe from ourselves.
Always looking towards tomorrow,
Willing to wait and to die for that grass always greener on the other side.

We’ve achieved nothing but loss of control.