But it wasn't that,
was it?
Not the dreams that blooded you
not the wandering of the soul or the
demons that assaulted you.
No,
it was the heart that blew up and
defeated you
the breaking of the glass
that shattered you
and after everything you said and did to
rid reminders from your eyes,
you still see them,
pulling at you
calling to you,
falling in and out and in that
round of about sort of way where
play is not play but pain
you want to do it all again.

But it wasn't that
was it?