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Quiet Kills

Frenetic life- oh I
wish I had one.
Metal taste of excitement in my mouth.
and devil may care
to rev the engine and
take me on the ride to everywhere.
those were the days
of my youth.
Scotch n' soda.
Gin joint baby
but hold the vermouth.
And dance, dance, dance.
Music won't you
entertain me?
Keep me perpetually moving
doing the pantomime can-can
in the barroom booth.
Because I can't sit still...
and if I do,
I might evaporate.
I might have to think.
I might have to live beyond the moment.
I might have to order another drink.
I might miss the brass ring, I might blink.
I might have to admit
that I don't have a freer will
and then tug on the leash of my tethered life,
swallow another unholy prescription pill.
Control is an illusion.
The tighter you grab on and try to take the reins...
you only get callouses, blisters
and growing pains.
Is there somewhere in the middle
somewhere in between inertia and hysteria
that I can maintain
and that will feed me.
I once needed perpetual excitement
like flowers needed the rain.
But I tell you now,
some days the quiet kills.

Copyright Saturday July 14th 2012....hmmm, its Bastille Day.
rough draft, directly to the computer.
Melissa A Howells   meloo straight from her Tilt-a-World (c)

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