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In-skirts

In-skirts
 
My soul clangs against my brain
Like an empty prisoners cup runs against cold metal bars.
Radiating and disturbing the silence
of an otherwise ignorant peace.
Chambered in its hopeless plea for freedom,
settles back onto to its tiny cot, bewildered,
dingy with grief in a sea of wrinkled, restless dismay.  
No saving’s grace, no hero’s ride,  
no best-ever recipe (file baked inside)
can free me now.
This is the in-skirts of reality
This is where we get stuck
Stuck moving
From one parent to the next
Your mom, your dad, your teacher, your boss, your GOD
all saying stick with us kid and you’ll always be lost but,
breathe easy, whatever it is, it isn’t your fault,  
you can’t go blind if you got no eyes.
It’s ignorance perfected, humming, hypnotic, whole-heartedly horrendous.
GET UP OFF YOUR KNEES
and stop begging your captor for freedom.
The answers you need are quiet, like thieves.
And get rid of that cup, it’s empty.  
The river is full friend, the river is life.
Written by Battered-Suitcases (Battered Suitcases)
Published
Author's Note
From our most recent LP - "Wild Dogs" on Rock Hand Records,
In-skirts was inspired the deep in roads of our minds, created by belief systems, religion, family hierarchy and corporate structure and the deceivingly liberating notion that someone else is ultimately responsible for our lives, decisions and accountability for the choices we make, especially the not so righteous or good ones.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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