The fact remains,
That I can’t imagine faces into the shadows anymore
But I can imagine a life alone
I can’t be afraid of monsters under my bed
But I can fear an empty one
So people cease to be wonders
But instead books, in plain text dark and large
as that horrible nostalgic past of learning to read
Both books and people
Both hope and horror
I don’t want to be alone
And then I see
God and heaven made fiction for me
All poetry and purpose talked into dust
And crippled vines with no more lies to cling to
No more forests for them any more.
Great lives without meaning
All fraught with despair for naught
And so much greater than I, who still cries
Thus making my tears even less crystal
Even more a common thing
Great oceans crossed and frozen
Whims have formed our sails of ships
Never master a trade I say
For learning makes knowing there is less to see
Less to be
And less to feel for
To be alive for
Why should we be anything for nothing?
I don’t know, but we are every day
And I cry, I cry to be that
It tears at me to be so human
To be, not built for self-destruction
And yet so chained to it
I don’t want to be me
I’m so scared of anything tomorrow
I want the dark to take me again
I want to be scared of something else once more
I want to relive and tell myself that it can’t get better
Because it’s already the best it will be
Please, please, God, enjoy yourself
Because I didn’t
And you won’t, so you must now
Before the shadows lose their faces
And your bed becomes something to fear
Hold your life and your illusions dear
Because it won’t get better from here.
