Guesswork

They said it would make sense with time But clocks don’t answer back I followed trails made out of signs They vanished into cracks Some people carry books like shields Some write it on their skin I carved a question into steel But couldn’t get it in I’ve heard it’s out there I’ve heard it’s built I’ve heard it’s hiding Under guilt So what do I call this mess I’m in? Guesswork dressed up as discipline If I made it, is it fake? If I didn’t, what’s at stake? I met a girl who said it moves With every breath you fake I asked her what she meant by that She laughed like it was late She said, “don’t wait for something clean— That stuff’s for movies, not machines.” So what do I call this mess I’m in? Guesswork dressed up as discipline If I made it, is it fake? If I didn’t, what’s at stake? I wanna scream into the ground Not to be heard—just to be found Not to be saved—just to exist In something more than analysts If there’s a shape behind the noise Let it hold, or let it slip I’ll keep building Even if It's guesswork