Disorder
By Justin Farley
No waiting lines.
No ticket fees.
I was born strapped in your seat.
You took me up.
You took me down.
No choice in where I was bound.
But you soared me too high.
You crashed me too low.
I fried in Hell’s fiery furnace, writhed in winter’s snow.
A thrilling ride
for a moment’s time,
but now no way to stop this racing mind.
For a moment’s time
A slow, quiet rest,
but now bleak, cold, and dead inside my chest.
No way to curb the madness.
No way to calm the fear.
No way to halt this ride and get out of here.
Corkscrews and loops.
Falls and climbs.
I spend my life riding the moods of my mind.
Copyright © by the owner.
