It's a funny thing;
The essence of survival,
Breathe a last breath
Others gave you and feel,
Try to feel
Stretch your arms out
And feel the open air.

I met a man,
And grew with him
He went were I went
And looked like me, like lines of me
His silhouette was my shadow
And I grew to fit him, like worn shoes

Somebody asked me, that day
What I'm passionate about
Survival, I suppose
But I lied, like always,
Truth found me long ago,
But when I find a little more
Like gold buried in montains of green
Of bedrock and mystery, thick-headed and sorry
My hands get weaker
My fingers slip,

Say goodbye to me, every day
It's appropriate
I'm learning something new each time I see you
And I'm becoming nebulous, cloudish
As if whispers don't fit me anymore
Nothing much does,
I'm something dark now
Beckoning
To a younger me.