Call upon the troubadours
who are unaware of the telephone:
to them it was ghosts coming through on wires.
Darkness empowered imagination,
and light caused it to surrender.
Now I ask, "How's the weather?"
And you bring up the past.
The fire that still burns between us
extinguished by time.
Time has this rotting effect--
when a clock can be reconstructed,
but never turned back.
Used to be in lust,
but I just say fine
the only time I meant it was
when you were mine,
living inside my mind.
They sent me away in April
when we stopped talking completely-
I saw you outside my barred windows
looking out upon the horizon
met with kisses from the pavement.
My vertigo didn't plague me anymore,
when all I wanted was to soar.
They reintroduced us inside a paper cup,
you were blue, white, and green.
Tasted of nothing,
there again,
self-immolation seemed like something out of a movie scene.
Saw you in my dreams,
but never awoke with you next to me.
You were never watching over me in the mirror reflection.
You stopped coming, ending the affection.
I'm still wondering where you've gone,
when I was released
they said you'd take your time
but perhaps with the changing chemicals running amuck
in my brain,
you'd show me a sign?
