The rustic sheet of a door screams as we pull it like a scab We step inside this warehouse can Two floors - we're holding hands His eyes lit like a crescent Moon - excited, he yells "daaad!"
Our head, like swaying swing We see it all, tongue in cheek Like controls without the freak It's so much fun it stings
An asymmetric wasteland Convenient and distorted The walls - bleak and boarded A symbolic sleight of hand
This is where we feel My father's on the catwalk Like paranoia paraphernalia My son's grip tightens, it's the only thing that's real
Absolute felicity To realize what I have in the confines of my hand Imperfection in the making - he doesn't understand Skylarking permissably
A reverie to remember His smile - sifting through his eyes Warm, he maneuvers like the flies He was born in December
Moving closer to my father He's amidst the in-between Consistently foreseen His motion is no bother
He steps along the ply Somehow keen in his demeanor Four-years-old, but greener Tossed and turning - it's the gleaner
The sheet has been disturbed He's falling to his death I'm blanketed in sweat This cannot be deserved
My father's eyes - they match my own I tear through the distance Foreseeing and consistent My father is a witness
The fear - he's fighting falling We've never known it more His tiny hands just wishing there were nails Collective - we're losing all things
I grasp a finger as he falls but not enough to bring him back My son approaches pavement as it fills my throat the same I look him in the eyes as they melt away in pain My body wakes without my mind - hysterically screaming "DAAAD!"
This happened to me. I awoke, but it didn't make the memory any better. Only the ones to come.