Do you know how petite a fine calendar day can be,
With the odor of bruised silence,
Asking for impossible freedom,
From the pain, better than the alternative,
What makes us special in lines of attack,
Touchy not knowing what else is going to rip us apart,
Lucky if it acknowledges us on its way out,
Each day begetting new disturbing revelations,
Like taxes, constant,
Year after year, breathing so sickly.
With the odor of bruised silence,
Asking for impossible freedom,
From the pain, better than the alternative,
What makes us special in lines of attack,
Touchy not knowing what else is going to rip us apart,
Lucky if it acknowledges us on its way out,
Each day begetting new disturbing revelations,
Like taxes, constant,
Year after year, breathing so sickly.
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