Feeling those micro abandonments like the setting sun upon my amygdala's shore,
No longer residing in my mind's old tenemants, I can see only strangers at my left-side door,
Wreathed in layer upon layer of distrust, I cannot open myself up anymore,
I couldn't bear to see your bold stars dimmed by the enveloping mist of what came before.
What kind of existence will find me tomorrow, if any existence at all?
I've been begging for another's burdens to borrow, mine can no longer make me fall,
I'm learning that in my old mirror and shame, I can sometimes see the face of Saul,
Blind in my wandering and bashful in blame, I am forever lost in the stories I cannot recall.
