Wrong Here

Sometimes,
We need to get away from the tragic pages that lead our lives.
The numbers and positions that make up who we are.
To climb out of such a deep hole.
To feel the clarity of indecision.
To start again.
The creation of curves and straight lines coming directly from our mind.
Being led only by the beat in our chest.
We might stand still as the plot unravels our lives.
Caught between the significant and the mundane.
But we’ll listen for the soft spoken secrets the wind might blow our way.
Coordinating immature acts with hypothetical situations.
At least the goosebumps on our skin let us know we’re alive.
We tell ourselves that each drastic breath prolongs an inevitable demise.
An exit that presents itself,
Unexpectedly,
Down a one way corridor.
Will anyone take the time to record our movements?
We formulate a plan and sketch out a design.
Stuck in the misconception of control.
The fingerprints of so called guidance and knowledge covering our body.
Masking the purity of what once was, what could have been.