Where oh where
does my passion lay? In a shoebox,
under the staircase? I’ve been looking all day,
I guess it’s better off this way..
To be missing eternally
rather than found and broken,
a curse that bounds when spoken,
these days I hardly mention your name.
Most dreams are fairytales,
I need to pretend if I want to achieve.
I am living in honesty
or I am not living at all.
My passions been pressed into the page;
transformed from a natural beauty into something useful.