Pacing Never Got Me Anywhere

Here I relax again with cigarettes surrounding me.
I long to wonder the shortcoming of infinity.
With ceilings high as I’m willing to stand beyond these banks.
I don’t remember how it feels to fly or why I sank.

It’s like the benches are a home to thieves and sanity.
We’re rushing toward the peace and beauty we call vanity.
The sound of gravity exists to rush inside my veins.
His sounds of claiming hits persist. Remind me why I came?

We are alone again, outside the glass, outside the doors.
Sidewalk preachers sit and cry their lungs out even more.
A sigh- and if you quickly now, ignore their place
They just might open up and enlighten you for tempting grace.

Her eyes are weak and damp, which proves she loves her temperance.
The way she dreams has made me doubt the bliss of penitence.
When sleeping solitude is a weary chore for tired eyes
This girl can’t get it right. She’ll interpret dreams to finalize.

I should’ve seen this trail from a Saturday night long ago.
I should’ve realized then I needed speed to prompt the flow.
Like wind’s invisible- affects the tide in which we breathe.
I wish vision mattered, cause there is no way I’ll interpret dreams.