Ten Letra

So proud to see life, face pushed to a pinhole, with positions drawn out, and bridges raised. But I can see out, only blank landscapes, to see the faces pressed into dirt. To question the notion, that all is not as it seems, results it being told. That my reaction is a process of hate, but I just want to LOVE. The second I whisper, or open up my mouth I see the back of head. Instead of passing I take the bait: I bang my head into a wall. A clenched fist forms nothing, it returns onto itself and bores a hole. And my reaction to a process of hate means that I, I just want to LOVE, the second I whispered and opened up my mouth I saw the back of a head. Pushing down to see what comes off, applying pressure to the spring, in the hope that it will not recoil, and fling back into me.