knock on the wood.
i hope someone wakes up from their sleep
and run, hurriedly, comes to me
the night crawled in with its halloween costume
nail polish scent lingers like a drug
how much more innocence is left in the fog.
the day clamored with its gloves and a hammer
pounded down my potentials that melted under the sun
and i tell that to some tenderfoot’s son
they never saw it, the mahogany
i’ve grew it on my back when i was seven-ish.
so, more than ten years since i lived in relief.
knock on the wood.
has it lost it’s magical scheme
‘cause i see my face turning grey
somehow matching the color of miseries.
do i cut it down, do i drop it off
if i could do— how?
that’ll change my month
though it worked once since august
it just ended for october
and i wonder.. is my belief failing to bring relief to me
oh, mahogany.
carried the weight throught the years
only took me this long to realize
my bones broke in ways that it can’t be revitalized
unless i leave this time
no matter how loud or faint the knock
beliefs are weak to save your big bad luck
no mahogany can save, yet i carried it anyway
so when i feel like i’m losing my gifts
i twist myself to face addiction
the girl who believes in such superstition
oh wait, do i take it down?
i’ve lost a lot, i’ve felt a lot
i knocked on it but ic sounded none.
knock on the wood.
i hope someone wakes up from their sleep
and run, hurriedly, comes to me