I will open to you,
like paper in fire,
unfolding before I am destroyed,
and once I have become ash,
you will be wind,
attempting to reconstruct me as I fly further away from myself

Soon, you will realize, I am a clown on an all day, every day shift,
I will tell you things and,
you will grow tired of me
and make sighs that sound like waves breaking,
worn out by their heavy body,
and in my head to you I will say "I told you so."
and you will speak with subtle smiles that release your boredom,
I will close, after you do
and we will forget,
that we were ever open.