it seems to be that I have become speechless
in my way of things,
and I sit in silence
as the words have left me,
is it nostalgia?
a shift in the flutter?
something have happened,
a change in direction
it feels alien,
and I can't get
the colors to speak
and the paint to breathe
like how it used to be before
why is that?

do we create something out of nothing
is that what it means to be human?

why is it so hard for me
to admit that
all the things I hoped for
will no longer appear
like a camera's flash
take a photo of my life
I don't pose in any of them
I know that this is only
a frame sliding next to
the thickening photo album
thousands of frames to take
and only one to take a shot
I know I'm foolish
a whimsical dreamer
dying to know
how to possibly
carry on

I don't even know
Where to begin
On this concrete floor
Waiting for the forms
To come bursting in
A dash of color
Or flash of texture
Or even maybe
The grate of silence
Screaming as loud as ever
It's easy to get lost

Sometimes I feel
As if I'm sunlight
Filtering through the trees
Fighting to stay conscious
In a world I would rather
Dream

sometimes one of the most*
impossible things to do
to yourself
is to convince yourself
*that nothing is there

Staring down at my two feet
I feel like I can't breathe
My hands numb from the pulsing sleet
I can't keep a quiet mind

Thoughts travel unorthodox
Stupid and ****** up
And as the music winds to a stop
I can't keep the tears
Rolling down from the top

Keep away, keep away
I try to say yet from what?
Hold on against the
Current of the mad fray

Hold on just for the moment
And the static relays
Buzzing in my head
Will eventually ebb away