Being Dust On The Fabrik

Being Dust on the Fabrik

Without my medication
I am floating around
In a fog not having
Time or capabilities
To think before I react.
I am a puppet on
A string with no clues
As to who the puppeteer
May be this time.
Who is it and are
They aware of the power?
Some crazy connection?
I am seeing things again
Before they happen.
They are minor things
That aren't quite adding
Up the sum of one.
I wish these damp
Intuitions of being
Pulled by strings
In the collegiate gas mask
Would follow my finger
To the exit sign.
The 8 ball is a bitch
Who won't give me
A straight fucking answer.
There aren't too many
Straight answers.
I am confident my karass
And my friends
Of many lives ago
Will support me,
Catch me if I fall
And mend my broken wings.
I am meant to fly.

Copyright Heather Prudence Davis


				*My Prison Souls* *Being Dust On The Fabrik*



	Home Noel Davis \| Colossal Guide \| NINE \| Hollow \| Uneven Scales \| Empty Yet Filled \| Step 2 \| Cradle \| Searching \| Key \| Waving Not Drowning \| Run \| I Don't \| Mirrors \| a break from hell \| Voices In My Head \| Being Dust On The Fabrik \| Sizzzzle \| Wrinkled Time \| Joone \| Depression Music \| Confrication \| My Soul Resides In a Mountain \| Drifting Turkey \| The Eye \| Smashing Bars \| (I lost my purple momentarily) \| A Good Day \| Crashing \| (4:30 a.m Wide Awake) \| The Continuous Struggle \| Demand Presentation