When I was a child, the hallways stretched for miles
Mahogany and ceramic floors, polished bookcases
A mansion for fictional paperbacks
All neatly tucked under fluorescent lighting

The librarian would wait behind her desk
She reigned silent
besides the tapping of her fingertip to her glasses
I can’t remember her ever looking happy

Until the day I noticed the chirping
Sang somewhere between the realistic & historical fiction,
a bird cage sat next to the woman’s desk
It was an unexpected visit

I should have brought a better dressed book to check out
Mine was bound by yellowing pages
But I met the canary and heard her song
As I watched the librarian smile

I'm romantically drained
I have nothing left in me
As the record spins to play,
It's needle in my arm is longing to be
scratching another smooth surface
And the pendulum swings

My vices run like clockwork
Words lump under my tongue
Weeds grown over the earth
You can't **** the young

I'm sinking with your memories
They can't swim 'cause they're under the river
If these walls could speak,
they would hardly bare a whisper

Your touch is colder than before
Ropes starting to fray
I'm becoming afraid
there is no spark anymore
Only to forget my name

Wondering how tired my lungs are
Sustenance carpets the hollow floor
Lead me out of the dark

Ignoring the signs
The more that I learn, the less meaning I find
Am I the hell you see
in your family's eyes or voice of reasoning?