Now I'm lost.
Host to the language that plagues the brain.
The pretentious words that print the page.
All are symbols understood in vain.
Watched as they dance for you,
in your peripherals just outside of view.
Fingertips poised in the witchcraft
of culling those to your gift of gab.
Oh how I try so hard to let them in
unable to realize where to begin.
I want to melt away to the sway hieroglyphs,
but burn to the beat of monoliths.
This ephemeral sense of longing
betrays a persistent ethos of belonging.
Buying a stunted sense of forever at cost
had no worth because I'm lost.