There is the strange feeling of being hunted,
A fear of the shadows and daylight too,
So blinded by the flashing warnings,
I stumble knowing not what is true:
Whenever those curtains of uneasy calm fall
I call it quits to this masquerade-but then
I’m not holding the strings, so I move
Like a puppet dancing in the wind…
There’s loneliness- the wound and the remedy,
Disappointment of being alone in the crowd
A part of me searching for a sweet solace,
A part me of me crying out aloud
“Enough” is what I often say
But I move beyond not knowing how
So do most, though they pretend otherwise
Helpless, for we do not have a choice…