|Written By: Sage Francis
|The weak link is quivering...determining the chain's strength/
|Wimpering...VIBRATING...the wave length/
|of its stress signals are more or less symbols. It just trembles/
|Knowing it'll take the weight when the chain breaks and disassembles/
|See Mr. Wendell? He knew nothing of this daily struggle/
|Sit under the disfunctional family tree and prepare for trouble/
|Could barely hear the mumbles beneath the ear peircing rumbles/
|Sharp tongues slashing mouths while lashing out with verbal belt buckles/
|Friends crumble under similar circumstances within their own chain of events/
|>From Sloppy knots in family ties. The pain is intense/
|The tension is thick. Two sided arguments are upsetting to him/
|Stretching the link. testing its endurance and spreading it thin/
|TREMBLING...holding onto what's familia in the Italian sense and reading intense drafts/
|by Sylvia Plath/
|Breaking off into an unfamilliar path/
|Divert the hurt by faking coughs, trying to act silly and laugh/
|Making light of situations when I sense a panic attack/
|I'm a fully licensed self-defense machanic, and my toolbelt is black.
|She probably thinks I'm dead.
|She's probably dead.
|When he left she said I was so strong, I know she's wrong...
|I need back support. My knees fold.
|Please hold your end of the bargain when I leave home.
|Please hold the keystone.
|The weak link is feeling emense stress from a tense situation,
|stretching out in every direction and visibly shaken.
|Its mistaken as durable, listen...
|its just the circumstance that has it standing in a verticle position.
|Hurting from the friction of abrasive personal differences.
|People lose their grip when hands slip, and it gets worse when fingers give.
|The Lying Tamer is in the middle of the three-ring-circus. "Bring the kids!"
|Hanging by the last string it swings.
|Cling to live. Strain to see. Gasp to breathe.
|The father figure is...breaking free...he has to leave.
|I figure its...making me...want to pass the seeds.
|The baby sitter grins...vacantly...lying in dead grass and leaves,
|Laughing at trees. They hold their own.
|Forbidden fruit of their manual labor pains don't fall far from their home.
|Every autumn calls for another poem devoted to growing old.
|Every winter seems to get colder and colder...its that same old story overtold.
|Let go of your hold...become a missing link in the chain effect.
|Out on the open road...kids'll think you became a wreck.
|When hopeless souls begin to sink and disconnect
|its just a release.
|Its such a relief.
|Sometimes, we need to be alone.
|But please hold your end of the bargain when I leave home.
|Please hold...the keystone.
|The Weak Link