I used to feel.
Harmonies sung from the tips of my nerves
Anthems ran through my veins.
Hurt crunched like leaves underfoot
Fire could burn on for days.

I used to know
That everything was real
I had no doubt in my mind.
Like was like
Love was love
Passion quite often defined.

And then everything stopped.
I put it all in a box
Because frankly, crunching can get quite annoying.
I tried to recall it and air it back out but
The air hung thick this summer and
Nothing ever really got completely dry.

Mold grew
Tainting everything and now
I can never tell what's clean
And what's a fabrication of my mind.