I lost the reigns I thought I had,
and lost my thoughts in memories.
I've been thinking in past tense,
and I don't think I'm walking forward.

I don't embrace the change with acceptance,
and I don't welcome it with uncertainty.
The ivy on my fingertips is a sure fire sign that
I am wilting by the hour.

I think leeches might have eaten,
what I thought was my heart,
and the mayflies might have collected,
what I thought was my mind.

As I lay and desinigrate,
I become meshed into the wood around me.
I lost the reigns I had, like,
I am not meant for the reality I claimed.

The soft chill of the air at night,
and the spiders on my spine: my fright.
The air seems brisk yet it doesn't touch me,
but I can tell from the way it floats above me.

The reigns, they still left me,
alone in the dark.
Because I couldn't find them,
I couldn't re-spark.

So I am lost like a legend,
a small useless clock.
I am without reason,
my will has been stopped.