Things change.
People change.
Who you are today is not who you will be six months from now,
For better or for worse,
For love or for hate,
For growth or retreat,
For sin or for virtue.

But some things never change.

I understand nothing
But ask nothing.
With so many words behind these lips,
I never allow them to part.
I remain silent.
But for how long can I keep this up?
And for how long can you?
Or is this just an imagination crossed with paranoia
At its best?
...or, rather, worst?
Tell me, provoke me, show me, push me, press me, look at me.
Speak.
Because words get lost in my throat,
And I don't find them until it's too late.

Eyes wide shut,
Fists lightly clenched,
Images slow dancing across my blackened, rosy lid.
Roll over,
Feel the stillness
That unstills my every breath,
And remember to forget,
The negative forbid.

I wrap my arms around its case
And place my head upon its face,
Imagining a steady beat pulsing on my ear,
But retract my every thought,
And reject all that I fought,
For though I’ve clipped my sorry wings,
They do not fly in fear.

To fly without my wings
Will be my one and only feat
To surpass all of the tremors
And darkened, doomed deceit.
And to unwind all that is tied
To this endless weary cheat
Was the greatest forward stroke,
Melt the chains upon my feet.

Scrub to numb,
Worn to a strength.
My eyes no longer paint on it their salty, selfish tears.
Callused hands,
Cleanse away
The stain that uncleaned me –
My reflection on this cloth
As it so long appeared.

I won’t say it here, but it’s still within,
No fading, faltered fall,
And sometimes through my longing heart
I wonder if it’s stall –
Is this really who I am, or have I fooled myself at last? –
But this glimmer of light I feel whispers,
“Your soul has grown in vast.”

I can hear my lonely, happy heart.
It taps,
It thumps,
It pounds.
Keeps time to the pillow pressed to my ear,
A beat without a sound.

And it isn’t the smile
(Well, maybe a bit),
And it isn’t the eyes
(Okay, that’s a lie),
And it isn’t the vocation
(I guess, I don’t know),
And it isn’t the voice
(Though I do hear its music),
And it isn’t the touch
(But it does give me chills),
And it isn’t the scent
(Sweet as it is),
But it’s every flaw,
Every issue,
Every huge imperfection –
And the wonderfully careless soul it comes with –
That gets me,
And that’s how you know it’s not a
Utopian,
Blinded idea,
But the real, unending, idiot deal.

A bridge well burnt
Leaves a life swiftly hollow,
And the words well lied
Dim the eyes dark to grey,
And a heart well ignored
Forms a wall hard to swallow,
And a face well smiled
Fools the ignorant betrayed.

But fires burn out,
And debris scars the land,
And who are we to say
This mess should stay guilt?
Silly people, don’t you know?
Just take my ****** hand,
And learn of the strength
Of a bridge that’s been rebuilt.

Join the club.
Lie.
It's what humanity does best.

The slumber I love to live and breathe,
So happy that it almost feels unreal,
I can taste the bliss on my slow, steady breath,
I can feel the smile in my warm, flowing blood.
And as I open my eyes, I disappear,
My breath grows sour, and my blood grows cold,
I realize reality was a blink away,
And I wish I could sleep and never awaken.
The start is the hardest part of the day -
Bittersweet slumber and disappointed smiles.