I’ll be broken
I’ll be beaten
I’ll even be pieces of blue

I’ll stay scattered forever
As long as they fix you

For my times are many,
Like birds of a feather

Plus I’ll figure it took all the glue in the world
To put you back together.

Don’t touch me.
I’m quiet, and tall
And out of reach.

I am weak, and worried
And out of sound.

I am nothing,
But the fear in falling;

Wondering why I’m not touched

For now I am lost words written long ago
Or even small fallen thoughts,
As a current of certain change

I am shades of grey and greatness
With my misconceived dreams

I am simple sounds in another’s song,
As it goes on and on

For now, I am but a brief thing
That is to become of me

Some days its hard to figure out where it all went,
Or if there was anything really there to begin with
Some days I’m blind
And I’m lost,
And sometimes I’m scared.
But then sometimes I’m comfortable being lost,
And I rather enjoy being blind,
That way what I can’t see
Can’t be close to hurting me
No vision to remind me
Of everything I should be,
And these things never change
And it’s probably for the best
To be lost without a reason
And without a care.

I’m telling you,
Invest in super glue…
Glue super dude’s ***** to his shoe
Then what kind of running around can he do?

The game is over,

Someone said I lost, yet I don’t recall playing
I’ll admit, I lose much more than I win

But to lose a game I’ve never played,
Is hating where I have never been

As if it’s all a very strange day!

Indeed a quick spell of constant delays,
To try the heart
Some gathered minutes of unending hours
Set to make a day

And a day is a grand display of delight and dismay,
To try the heart,
And the vision of thought,

As a time to shine.

And how it passes so fast,
Like dust in thick winds

Bringing me to great places,
And covering my eyes.

Listen to these words I came this far to say,

I am always a bitter breeze of forgotten things,
A mystery in the wake of silence.
A talent of jaded memories to be replaced by something simple.
I am distant in the rise of dawn,
A player in a wondrous game of fields and forests

I am quick to run,
A stream of calm waters flowing throughout the ways.
A theme of trying justice without the will to impart

A quarter of rigid ground to hard to bare anything
Too wide to know why.
Too simple to care.

Thus remaining a bitter breeze of forgotten things