I march to the beat of my own drum, but I have no rhythm.
The path diverges in two ways and I choose the third.
My head is a labyrinth from which escape is fruitless.
Please believe me when I tell you that my heart holds more dark corners than most because the sun just doesn't shine as bright as it used to over here.
And it's not often that the gates come down long enough to let others in,
so welcome to the road not traveled.
Now the moon has become my guiding light to eventual freedom,
escorting me through the shadows of the past.
I need your fingers locked with mine as I share the secrets buried so far back I almost forgot where I put them.
You gave me this and more
or so I thought
because now...
Now I worry that the corners are too black and your eyes don't adjust well in the dark
and you too are lost in the labyrinth with little hope for return.
The road worn and beaten by footprints is the one you choose to journey on,
for my path has too many thorns and poisonous plants that choke whoever dares attempt passage.
And as you fade into the distance,
I can tell that my cacophony of percussion will never allow me
to be able to match the melody
of the soft, steady pulsation that emanates from your very core
but you knew that all along,
didn't you?
