sometimes more time is all I find
deep inside these insides of mine
I look to the sky wide eyed
if I could fly I might defy my kind

I search for my sight, I can't find
any kind for these eyes of mine
those lies that I lied beside
come back to bite me from behind

the vines entwine inside my mind
climbing toward some kind of sign
I find myself when I hide
if I saw the light, i might go blind

and then,
between two thoughts,
i saw it:

one
snarling
mountain range of
33 angry white knuckles,
gripping the past within;
what was once a column of energy and lifelust
is now fell column of salt.

open up your
hand and
let it go.