Eight on the Ballantine Scale

The breakers seemed, to, scatter out like mice
from the shade I made, to perforate the light
To draw it in, make it dim, take the edge off the world
Another glass, we move too fast, I’ll bend the corners 'till they curl
Make a mark, make a dent, we are all but dead and spent
If we’re all bricks and mortar, all made of the same stuff
Why do these seas all say, that I am not enough
Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath
There’s only so much left of me
Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath,
I can’t see beyond the trees
I am my own shoreline,
an isle in retreat, consumed
by callus commotion,
dissent and defeat.
How can I let you in?
And I’ve put my hands in the ground and felt roots
But I’ve put them in the same place and felt nothing too
I’ve scraped against these shores till my thoughts have worn dead
And I can’t stop the smoke, inside my head
I’m trapped, trying to reach out past these screens
Desperate to guide someone, through my broken beams
Cause the solitude scintillates, in its own kind of way
But it’s the liking it that feeds, this wanton disarray
I am but a glance, scarcely a whisper to the sea
Worn down and terrified of all I cannot be
So like waves, all day, you can crash upon me
But this island remains, just as desolately.
And I crave the fight, the last war of my own words
I’m tethered to a leather, bound book of crass verse
And though this tongue is poised, the paint stays dry,
So I settled for, these well spoken lies
The melancholy simmered, through bloodshot eyes,
the cursor blinked in, the coruscating light.
So like waves, all day, you can crash upon me
But this island remains, just as desolately.