09-21-2021, 07:18 PM
The sky
stares at me and I at it.
Right now it is the only thing that gazes upon me
bedsides God.
The gaze of the one who used to gaze upon me
is a memory
safely tucked away
in time
being written by another rhyme,
filling my mind
as I grasp for sense.
It's nice to know how he is
but I long for more
to touch,
feel,
hear.
I am the melody reaching for harmony
as the tune
of my soul
hums amongst the broken ruins
of my heart,
gathering in what remains
and attempting to restart.
My remains lie upon my van,
searching through the blackened night
with some cloudy grey
that overtakes that faded light.
I am a shell.
I am a shell.
Surely there is no heart here
just the remnants of what was dear
and I think I may be insane
because who waits for something
that would only cause pain
to everyone near?
Surely there is evil in the want,
the lust,
the crimson red tide
that pulls me into his fiery passion
as I long for him to
greet my lips
once again.
I'm caught in a haze,
a daze,
a burning maze,
and I am trapped
and can't get out.
There's no doubt
who is at fault
and it's me.
I can see.
I am not blind
I purposefully turned out the lights
to regain my sight
as one does
when they've lost what they can't find.
The scars on my feet tell a tale
of what was
and the first kiss
that I can feel,
in the mist,
like the dream that will not fade.
The scar on me knee tells a tale
of when I failed
and I found myself
searching,
lurching
around in the shadows
like arrows missing their mark.
I am surrounded by time's sad call
realizing that all must go
eventually.
I am the wanderer in the mist
making a list
of the shapes I see
blurred like the lines of me
and who I am is getting fuzzier,
dustier.
I pull myself into my mind
to seal away my crime
as if to hide my past mistakes
the ones that I love so dearly
that I shouldn't.
I am not pure white.
I am ashes,
the blackest of soot
that passesÂ
along in the wind
and I fear that this is what I have become.
The darkest thoughts of me
burn their way
into the reaches of the hold
that holds me.
Surely he
can see
it too.
Perhaps he feels it too.
Perhaps we are not that different.
Perhaps our crime was kept in time
in the back of both of our minds,
winding
down our sin,
spinning
it into silk cloths
that look so delicate and soft,
held aloft
above all the other silk cloths.
Insanity.
This is insanity
and it is me.
It is I.
I identify
with the name I have given myself.
I wonder if he too identifies
with the name he has given himself.
Perhaps we have both given ourselves
the same name.
stares at me and I at it.
Right now it is the only thing that gazes upon me
bedsides God.
The gaze of the one who used to gaze upon me
is a memory
safely tucked away
in time
being written by another rhyme,
filling my mind
as I grasp for sense.
It's nice to know how he is
but I long for more
to touch,
feel,
hear.
I am the melody reaching for harmony
as the tune
of my soul
hums amongst the broken ruins
of my heart,
gathering in what remains
and attempting to restart.
My remains lie upon my van,
searching through the blackened night
with some cloudy grey
that overtakes that faded light.
I am a shell.
I am a shell.
Surely there is no heart here
just the remnants of what was dear
and I think I may be insane
because who waits for something
that would only cause pain
to everyone near?
Surely there is evil in the want,
the lust,
the crimson red tide
that pulls me into his fiery passion
as I long for him to
greet my lips
once again.
I'm caught in a haze,
a daze,
a burning maze,
and I am trapped
and can't get out.
There's no doubt
who is at fault
and it's me.
I can see.
I am not blind
I purposefully turned out the lights
to regain my sight
as one does
when they've lost what they can't find.
The scars on my feet tell a tale
of what was
and the first kiss
that I can feel,
in the mist,
like the dream that will not fade.
The scar on me knee tells a tale
of when I failed
and I found myself
searching,
lurching
around in the shadows
like arrows missing their mark.
I am surrounded by time's sad call
realizing that all must go
eventually.
I am the wanderer in the mist
making a list
of the shapes I see
blurred like the lines of me
and who I am is getting fuzzier,
dustier.
I pull myself into my mind
to seal away my crime
as if to hide my past mistakes
the ones that I love so dearly
that I shouldn't.
I am not pure white.
I am ashes,
the blackest of soot
that passesÂ
along in the wind
and I fear that this is what I have become.
The darkest thoughts of me
burn their way
into the reaches of the hold
that holds me.
Surely he
can see
it too.
Perhaps he feels it too.
Perhaps we are not that different.
Perhaps our crime was kept in time
in the back of both of our minds,
winding
down our sin,
spinning
it into silk cloths
that look so delicate and soft,
held aloft
above all the other silk cloths.
Insanity.
This is insanity
and it is me.
It is I.
I identify
with the name I have given myself.
I wonder if he too identifies
with the name he has given himself.
Perhaps we have both given ourselves
the same name.