I see them watching me,
All eyes aimed at my life,
Everyone trying to see,
Waiting for me to trip or stumble.
I may fall, I may fail,
But no matter what I will pick myself up,
I will restart my game,
So I can try again.
No giving up for me,
Surely this you can see?
I will always push forward,
That’s the only way I know how to be.
Life is hard,
That’s a fact,
A truth for us all.
So worry about your own life,
Rather than waiting for me to fall.

Oh it's all hanging threads,
Hanging ligaments with drops of red:
Vines without poles - flesh without bones.

Events roll out in scarlatine flashes:
Eyes in crowd flap down their eyelashes
And in silence the suspense grows strong;

The bricks are set, the façade is over,
But from within, the house still lacks a structure:
One penetrates rooms without walls.

A memory from the depth is brought up,
A storyline used to link so many dispersed dots:
Leaves are flying free as the childhood tree rots...

Oh it's all hanging threads
Hanging sources, hanging roots:
Scars over the sun revolving in loops.

And the conduit narrows down,
Leaks a single bolt of light to glow:
An empty room as throne and crown

And a thorn, pain escaping death,
A frown of estrangement in the face
Of all that's known - what's most unknown.

Spectators stare deceptively
While promises of relief are spared;
They too are suspended in the air...

Oh it's all hanging threads
Hanging loose, hanging dead;
Waiting for the artisan to ease the noose.

My mind suddenly breaks the fourth wall,
Unaware there's an audience,
More understanding of what I did than why,
I wasn't told of spectators upon my life,
Expressed not in the words of many townspeople
Who mill in the streets of my world