safe ground,come beneath my feet

I can feel a taste of maroon and bitter flesh underneath my tongue whenever i am deceived.
It already comes as no surprise,i can see my cord gradually cooling instead of throbbing faster;i can see my savvy pulse mustering more and more patience,not soaring anymore.
Grown-ups are not to nourish eachother's hysteria;grown-ups are due to thwart hysteria from digging any further into their hollow cheeks.
Grown-ups are to sooth one another and do something for a living.

I try to claim myself as safe ground,gracefully tackling precipitous brinks.
i'm still very fond of watching virgin,thick snow at winter time,but i no longer feel the need to ruffle it with my naked fingers.
I like to believe i make a difference already by streching and testing my boundaries;
some of the unprolific instincts are not to fledge.
i play some fictive instrument which has a will of its own; when playing it,i can only interpret songs preaching ethical topics,songs rendering good feelings.