Mirroring how the sun falls on cold days,
I can only ever manage faint farewells.
Hands folded across their laps,
and every window left open to hear the rain,
I stumble back to my own safe haven,
But leave scars upon every prophecy they speak.
The truth is I never listened to the wind much.
I never heard the strings ascend,
I never felt the ground move beneath my feet.
I never understood the sweet collections of words
Whispered from a corner of an unknown bedroom
Into the flooded pit stops of my attention span.
I cannot continue to build my own imagery,
Forcing the wallowing, passionless connection
To take ahold my of affection.
Assembling a mixture of memories which
Aren't even my own, haven't happened,
And will never occur.
These heinous acts will allow
Even the slightest amount of aspiration to
Unravel, leaving me with an excuse to deny,
Yet again, All of the bursting white light.
Former lives will pass across the ceiling,
While each new moon phase reveals,
that I am not, and never will be, who I intended
As I grew from innocent, to in control.
The truth is, I am far from in control.
I never allowed myself to listen to the wind.
I have always wanted to hear the strings ascend,
I need to feel for the moving ground.
I must understand the sweet words that will carry me away,
The words that will make me feel whole and free.
