Impulses run through deeper veins
No time for clean-up
They generously leave lover-stains
Kind of like Pollock's paintings
Splattered all pink and blue
Like the ones you often tell me "move" you
Impulses aren't strong
But neither are the weak
Often leaving a picture
Of a future so bleak
They only come to go
But they leave us much
Taking away certainty
Giving us back a dated crutch
Impulses are generous
Just like you
You see you're just an impulse
Tattered all pink and blue
You steal serenity
Always so unsure
and in return for peace-of-mind
You hand out the cure
A paragon of perfection
What a beautiful mess
They leave you lonely
They leave you distressed
They have no mercy
They leave you thin
And just like you
Impulses stand on fragile limbs
Trust me
You and your impulses are more easily broken than you know
Try to undo the damage,
and then it will show
Like everything, your impulses beat you
time and time again
If you could see the power they hold over you
You wouldn't trust them, my friend.
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