Thrush - To Coda

An unfortunate song I sing. Bitter notes; depleting melodies. Leaning on the edge of the worn seat. Fashioned with tiny pieces of a fragmented wit. Vivid scenarios of begrimed patterns waltzed back and forth and I welcomed them into the place where sleep betrayed. With a meager mutter of assent I kept staring into the places I simply couldn't see. In repetition's stuttering vision, tell me I'm golden; tell me I'm distinct. I marched with these little legs all the way to the end of the chapter that kept calling my name. “Close the curtains over your retinas once more and I swear you'll finally see.”