Wander

The gut of the man punched by the cost of trust,

eyes to the floor hunched, confronting all the times he's been fucked.

Engulfed by the insults, becoming the adult that's about to erupt.

Regretful, the instrumental in his mind lacks treble,

so the bass pounds through his temple, and he becomes quietly temperamental.

The weight of the noise isn't stressful as it is chestful,

away from the shoulders like the lines goes. 

Tries to be careful, it can't ever just be one, it's always several.

So the lower the level, the higher he used to go. 

No devices or vices to stay away from the asylum 

just listen for the sirens and head to the quiet.

In times of crisis, breath and let the mind wander to the islands.

The louder it gets, the more it becomes silent.

Though the load never lightens, always seeming to widen.

Carry it through the ocean as Poseidon,

Until your dreams of reaching that island finally manifest and ripen.