What they say is true poem by: C.A.B

You can be free of the world’s devils,
And still be tripping over the one who makes your heart flutter.
The one who makes you step up to the mic an at your next mutter step down.
What is it that makes us put a crown on a queen or king that feeds us to serpentine layers?
Masking the fact that they’re childish in their mannerisms, Costuming emotional hostage as L-O-V-E.
Holding our hearts captive until we no longer benefit them, or fit them.
What made their dreams an aspirations swallow ours whole, and leave our soul as malnutritioned bones?
May we erase the garbage,
Not to be blinded again,
By addiction.
Time a part may break the silence, and find peace in the glorious music of our faith making us feel again. Begin again.