the present, now absent, sent away,
by the flickering change of a mere sentence,
becoming a thing of the past & the future.
now, with no one to know, & nowhere to be,
when we sail the cold skies in our minds,
when we blankly walk our dreams,
never quite fully knowing the lives we lived
the same way we never quite know the end,
just that it happens, & that it by definition remains hidden,
we become more like ourselves,
in the same vein that the reflection in the window
becomes clearer in darkness,
closed eyes & open dreams reveal who we are,
carrying projections of us away into the cold sky
where lost winds howl & cry,
calling a name we know better than to answer to,
since they call for something else, something long gone

in the tranquility of dead silence, in the air & the blurring, vanishing landscapes which past by,
the racing by of lives long planted whose roots stretch far beyond their branches,
we hasten our strides by sour fruit only to leave ripeness in our wake
& leave ourselves in hopes of finding someone new, within, & doomed to be without.
hollow, we search the grey, grey, world, for its secrets,
hopeless, never to find them
with our eyes open

by his betrayal to the dormant blood flow of life
in moonlight who preaches insanity, anarchy,
who taunts the wicked mind in its present neutrality
where the provocation is of being blank and yet overbearing,
such accentuates the interim shadows etched into a dirtied slate,
thus that light that kills makes his mind primitive, soul, sedate,
and apart from all, his body who became its own ruler

spectral projections in his image surfaced
as the fingertips ripped through its own ribcage
and dethroned His Hapless Majesty in repressed rage
and an animated husk continued forth
even though the hostless spirit was delicate in its wake,
so free from each others' demands, the two had liberties to take.
and so thus they spent decades in total alienation

but in time, like a king with no subjects, the Mind wavered so,
and the Frame, like a guardian with no duty, faltered the same,
and like clockwork, fate had cursed the two that one became,
and by the moon's blinding and blank light a revelation held
that craving ensued for the beings to become whole again,
as the Mind haunted folklore, the Frame men,
as a means of searching, to reunite and rest as an ultimatum.

and they keep searching
a mindless body, and a bodiless mind
perhaps never to reunite
in punishment of denouncing their being
it was a truth he sought,
though never foreseeing the truth he forgot.
it was a race to command insanity and misery.

I think I really am dying
Where there was once a vibrancy,
In the first name that I wouldn’t remember anymore,
Winds that only whisper it still **** its flame,
And still, everything's the same,
Perhaps: something important collects dust in a drawer.

But I guess I was just in love with the day,
And by elimination, not the person.
I absolutely adored the rays of the sun,
the green leaves on the trees and tall grass by the path.
So I guess 1+1=0, according to the aftermath,
and taking one away from itself ends with none.

And that right there just might be how I passed the time,
By distracting myself from framing pictures with no captions.
Now I can clearly remember the day,
the now anonymous smiles and warm open skies,
The breezes long sought for, the figureless eyes,
Now all I'm capable of remembering is the day.

Forcefully ejected into space, those other memories
fly.
Of course, I still have them, but of course
I deny.
If I were so forgetful, my words would be
real,
For I can reject the details and the poison,
but I just can't reject how they made me
feel.