I want to burn the insides, Smoke out the pain of the third time. If this is what it takes to find my place, I don’t know if I can go on. As long as its always you and never me, I’ll be fine, maybe just skip a beat.
I’m sorry I left my fingerprints, I feel like I stole color from your painting. But I still want to visit the museum, I don’t care the price or the length of line. I don’t mind the reconstruction time.
I can’t let go without rejecting part of me or emptying my dreams. My soul won’t let me feel right if I drop hope. So I’ll stay home and keep writing my poems, Until I know the museum is open, ready for tentative visitation and revitalization.