Among the passing of time you told me to stop my struggle, to succumb to the persistence of the fingers ploughing through my mind.
You - The keeper of lost children on the long road home. Travelling past the fields of the dead, to get to a new life.
Only waiting on a single word but not knowing what it is or how it sounds.
Lighter than before when there was only you, bone thin in every room I stepped inside.
Lies falling from your lips like the great birds feathers as I squeeze the life from her helpless body.
The knowledge we lose to the kings of forgiveness and kindred spirits, passing on boats made of stone in oceans of forever and ever.
Deeper than the rest, held together by ink scrawled paper, flirting with the flames here in the questions. Didn't we make anything more from what we found below the cold ground?
Only more stones to carry back home to barricade ourselves behind heavy wooden doors.
No locks to lock out here in the cold. Only I remain inside my shaking, falling apart at every seam, picking at the stitches of my skin, looking for a way back inside.
I wouldn't want to be you and I wouldn't want to be anyone else but I sometimes don't want to be me.
You - The keeper of lost children on the long road home. Travelling past the fields of the dead, to get to a new life.
Only waiting on a single word but not knowing what it is or how it sounds.
Lighter than before when there was only you, bone thin in every room I stepped inside.
Lies falling from your lips like the great birds feathers as I squeeze the life from her helpless body.
The knowledge we lose to the kings of forgiveness and kindred spirits, passing on boats made of stone in oceans of forever and ever.
Deeper than the rest, held together by ink scrawled paper, flirting with the flames here in the questions. Didn't we make anything more from what we found below the cold ground?
Only more stones to carry back home to barricade ourselves behind heavy wooden doors.
No locks to lock out here in the cold. Only I remain inside my shaking, falling apart at every seam, picking at the stitches of my skin, looking for a way back inside.
I wouldn't want to be you and I wouldn't want to be anyone else but I sometimes don't want to be me.