Stuck

My head is stuck in the clouds,

My heart is trapped inside my home,

All I am is ragged and thin,

A collection of skin and bones.

 

My head is in the clouds,

My heart is in the ground I used to look at like it was the clouds,

My mouth is mumbling prayers to the wind,

Hoping it sends my heart down like a crashing plane,

Back into my earth and into my veins.

 

I am so lost yet unaware I’m lost,

Swipe left, swipe right, swipe to avoid your own Holocaust,

I haven’t felt a thing except my worry about not feeling,

I feel disconnected yet connected all the time,

A product of my generation,

Chasing after lost time all of the time.

 

My mind is in the clouds,

A refugee from this broken reality,

Fliers around town; if you find my mind please bring it down,

Or at least help it avoid the sun; too much brightness will sentence it to oblivion,

My mind is made up,

With a blanket of stars,

The bedroom of the crooked half moon,

I will have to dream of sleeping in it,

Dream of thoughts of the sky,

Or at least thoughts that are lucid.

 

What will become of me?

So lost yet I can find anything,

A refugee in a comfortable home,

Running away in circles that are straight lines,

Running away from obligations that take up my time,

So time takes toil and pays a toil inside of me,

It passes down the highway of my veins,

But just keeps on traveling,

I don’t have the will to move to catch up to it as it passes by,

It’s in the clouds,

Laying next to the stars with my mind.

 

 

A dust-bowl carries my heart from my home,

It is swimming with my mind in the stars,

Reunited for a brief time; yet poisoned because of the way we spend our time,

A wishing-well of our private hells,

In the clouds and in the stars is where all of me will always dwell,

Always dreaming of my fantasies until they become my realities,

I’m a product of my time,

So I’m a product of gravity.

 

I am in the ground,

Dead as dead can be,

A product of time, society, and history,

They have all culminated in this,

A ballad and a crescendo without sound,

My heart is still beating in the clouds,

If only I could move to take a flight to retrieve,

The self that used to belong to me,

Now all I do is drink and all I do is smoke,

All I have is false hope,

Swiping right and swiping left,

Feeling dead,

But never mentioning anything as serious as death.

 

I am a product of history,

American as American can be,

Selfish but preach selflessness seamlessly,

Religious but lacking morality,

Dead as dead can be,

Stuck in the clouds,

While living in the hell of my own making.

 

My head is stuck in the clouds,

My heart is stuck in the ground,

I’m stuck in a circle; I pretend it is a straight line,

I’m moving forward,

While I burn the entire world that lags behind,

Stuck in the clouds,

Will someone rescue me?

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