New

Pattern

I'll think of you when I relive this day in a year
It's the substance life is made of
What some call habit and practice only leaves me feeling mechanical
It's this feeling process that worries me
To the depths of my core, I measure

Emotion running, with chokingly thick, sickening viscosity
You'll always get the better of me, my dear.
I can feel it pressing, reshaping the foundation of subsequent things like time
It all plays out to those who watch

It's a shame that I cannot but play function to this life of ours
It's all too simplistic to comprehend
Too slick to grasp, as it slides away
Leaving a trail too tangled to follow
Yet another pattern I'll never recall

I'd Live In A House Of Blow

Afghani Black