BB Grey–musings

Not every line’s a poem, Not every post spills secrets. Value’s in the try, not the hit. No fixed price, just the roll of the dice.

Poems, secrets—same deal, The cost? Your courage to share. Economics stripped bare, Trading on old, worn coin.

I crave your words, your presence, Now distant, like touching through fog— To see you, hear you, feel you close Would ground me, clear this mess in my head. I need to know I’m not alone.

I built these walls, brick by brick, I’ll tear them down the same way. Here I am, no pretense left, Just asking you to stay— Let your grace be my shield, A warm blanket against the dark, Where sleep frees me from the grind Of being anything more than: A soul desperate for peace.