Protruding the surface—cutting waves into flesh
deeper than the intention of the thirstiest soul.
Traveling closer to the inward core of humanity,
until doors block emotions out, and people are left
drinking, singing, and stuttering deep into the surface of night.
Voices calling, and words become jumbled among the music,
which dollars are forced into machines only faint enough to hear.
People stepping across peanut shelled floors with skid marks,
wondering when the night will draw near, and tomorrow
will become today. Another mind, heart, and soul struggle
while rolling mindlessly away in office chairs underneath obtrusive lights.
Shuffling papers, wanting to write, and trapped in a room
thinking of you and a typewriter.
Passion before paychecks, songs before silence.
Wanting to propose, but unable to commit to anything
outside of this 8 to 5. Lights in the distance become blurred,
and it is your heart I feel through the keyboard of the day,
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