There is blood at your feet,
glass in your flesh,
and sand in your nails.

In an other time,
with another chance.
You don't truly believe things would be different if you could go back.

You are not someone that 'could have been better,'
you are just you, as you are.

You could never have been different.

our time together
has drawn to a close

you have had
your fair share

and i mine
there were fair moments

when i was soft
with sorrow

hard
with loss

but there are many feathers in a wing
and you may have only one

it is time to find my way
through the sky now blue

before i am done
i must make my own path

to the resting sun

One can say : "Tell us the truth!"
And I long to want to
but how is it best to do ?

I find it residing deep inside
But my ability is lacking to make it come alive

So I cast out examples
that lay alongside
Heavenly meanings
with Earthly ties

Proverbs , riddles , and saying so wise
Make it easier to see and feel the truth that's disguised

Sometimes it hard to separate the truth
Then one must turn into a quizzical sleuth

But for the one that knocks on the door
A new world opens for them to explore

And when you cry, we will
weep with you.
But not for pity — not grief.
It is for triumph.
You made it.

True?
Applause.

Your hard work, finally,
paid off.
– fin.

The smallest achievement or success
Is enormous in my eyes;
"Fame" and "fortune" and "world renown"
Compose my coveted prize.
But I am young and still naive
And quick to seek applause;
I lack polish and experience
And am prideful without cause.
It will take years to hone
The words formed in my brain.
As I whet my pen I must remember
That without prudence, there is no gain.
So as I write this weary road,
I must proceed with care,
And if I am wise, I might reach the end
And find my glory there.

How do I explain what I feel inside?
It’s like being underwater
not drowning,
but floating,
weightless in a sea that’s all your own,
where every breath tastes like salt
but there’s no shore in sight.
It’s the kind of emptiness
that fills you
until you forget what it feels like to be full,
until you forget there was ever anything
before this.
Would you care,
if I told you that I sometimes find myself
standing at the edge of things,
wondering if I’ve always been standing there,
waiting for something—
for you, maybe,
or for something that feels like you,
something that could make sense of this disjointed silence
I’ve come to call my life?
I’m not sure anymore.
Time is a ghost,
and I can’t even tell if I’m still chasing it
or running away.
The days have started folding in on themselves,
as though they were never separate at all?
Each moment a mirror of the next,
and every part of me
a version of something I used to be,
but nothing I recognize.