air

in the holes where your eyes are supposed to go,
I saw a friend, I saw you feed a soul.
No more.
Now, left in pockets of you,
those moments that I used to know;
echo, cold, a black hole echoes.
Backwards,
falling back to earth
where silence grows in the atmosphere until there’s nowhere left to go,
but home.
The patterns clear,
falling down.
and getting up,
to fall again
and shed a tear.
And we have grown.
Some say we are insane, the dark arts.
Where fear is the mind killer,
each breath is an overspill of death
and I have no time left for air.