I'm November nights' sleepless eyes,
And Saturday's heavy rain,
I feel broken and I can't remember why.
A deep breath, it might ease my anguish.
Across that town,
(that I set on fire),
Is something stronger than melancholy.
I try to reach it but it's too distant.
I'm an illusion you can't deem real.
I'm only mist,
Your hand will never,
Close around mine.
You cry like a boy,
When you hear I've lost my breaths,
In 1678's winter snowstorm.
The autumn of 1857,
Seems like cracking branches,
And you and me inexistent,
Trapped in something,
We can't seem to remember.
It has no name, that phobia.
I can't breathe, I can't remember,
Where I've left my lungs.
I can't feel, I don't know,
Where I've dropped my heart.
My eyes can't trace,
The shape of your face.
You're a blurred image,
I've crafted with my own hands.
Nothing makes sense.
Maybe I'm insane.
Desperate, so desperate,
To feel, to touch an entity,
That could be bigger than life.
But I'm a breathing vacuum.
The sensation in my fingers,
Is singeing me with so much life,
It's almost unbearable.
I'm running, bolting, wavering,
Stumbling, swaying, trembling.
I'm dying, dreaming, wondering,
I'm falling in love.
I'm falling over and over and over.
But I'm only falling.
I've never known what's it like,
To get up.
I'm falling into a rift valley,
With sleepy eyes.
I'm falling again.
But this time I'm falling asleep.
I might wake up.
Someday I might.