Sometimes Nothing Can Mean Everything Poem by Violet Warren

I'm making a conscience effort, but this bullet has flooded my mind
I could see down this path so clearly, but this fog has now clouded my sight
lift me, oh great spirit, maybe then I can see what is right
on the inside I'm still dying, but on the outside I'm feeling alive

take these nails, and pin me up on the wall
let me watch as all my blood falls from my bones
things are not what they seem because we live and die
and never seek the real things

as an artist pastes the paint to the brush
these working hands are still in a rush
brick upon brick I stand
with this wall balanced up against my hands
what makes such a fool the perfect tool?
or has that already been answered?
around us springs up the evidence
yet we still come up with questions

cut off the bindings that kept you free all this time
when you stop running in place and turn around
you'll find your reason why
it's not the drug that has you defined
it's the fact that you have no other way to die