Sudbury rain falls down
dark sky
Scan the horizon and sigh
for this will be the very final time you're here.
The scene's been shot and that's a wrap
this set's no longer needed.
Childhood chapter closed,
Completed.
Finality fills the air.
Its a muffled desperation
Constricted respiration
Soft precipitation
Around a promised revelation.
Nothing's immortal,
but there are things that should be,
So engrained within the depths of me
How could this not be forever?
Constance crumbles,
inconsistent.
What was near has become distant
and it all flashes in an instant
Then I'm gone
Driving down dirt streets
Slow-sad soundtrack
and melancholic heartbeats
Wishing I could hit repeat
on the past seventeen years
Hating myself for held-back tears
and lost time.
But let me look at this as liberation
I shall be a new creation
Slow and steady celebration
of my sentimental inclination
I shall take this as I stride
onto greater things
Bearing each blow that life brings
Remembering what Here taught me.
Don't let this fade,
Oh, Don't let these things fade
Let my soul be a slightly altered shade
for having known Here
for having felt this land
having had it fill the fractures in my bones
having adored it,
every single, solitary stone
having never been overwhelmingly alone
because I knew Here was still Here.
Well now it's not.
Memory leaves me broken and blind
I've always been the one running away
I don't think I'm very fond of being left behind.

You are now entirely mine
Formally shown through
Bite marks and scratches
And when, or before, they fade
I will kindly issue you more
On that previously flawless skin of yours
Sleek, toned muscles, on a thin frame
Warm hands, moving against me
Or tied down with silk ribbons
Entirely mine to command

Reading poetry doesn't fill voids
We sit still in fear of falling
Dwelling in the dark
A shallow attempt at masochism
When blood doesnt suffice

I look into myself and see only an accumulation
of lost objects
Piles of beautiful, forgotten documents
unusable
but loved for what they are
I am the words on a tea-stained music sheet
that mean nothing
and yet
you turn them over eternally in your mind
because there's something about that
sequence of syllables
that makes them
irresistible.
Look at my shelves and see my soul
Repeat my words and learn my essence,
Home is knowing who you are.