Lost in the memories she's given me;
though some feel more like they were taken,
and I still claim to be forsaken.
Still a broken tune without a harmony.

a bundled knot
a tree set to rot
numbness and void are the stilts I have walked over
this earth
on dusty dust and dusty rust: my crust.
No ability for me. I talk about myself too much I want to break away;
talk about you to you for you we will talk about you and you are you
you are more important than I or me...and even we.
so tired
tired of seeing me, being me, talking meish: the language of self.
Let it be!
see you, be near you, feel you have you hold you, be cast by and molded-mended to you. See you hear you know you show you, grow into you.

Watch you fly and cry and live and die by all your differences and wonderful beautiful strangenesses to learn.

I am suffocated by ego, and strangled by self.
Let me fly to something. One thing
that I know is not just more of me.
so tired...of me.