Through you I see winter on every empty branch, waiting for the burning in my eyes.
Where are the returning birds? Are they too saddened by the long flight back?
Will they not scar my skin to save me this year?
The silence of their now resting wings and the showing signs of blood from the journey appears in each dream I see. I've missed every single one in its own unique way. All the tiny hairs on my aching body stand straight with the fear of being alone in your mourning.
You were once all the empty space to me, I was never alone in my struggle when you were twitching beside me from the questions and the fear of acknowledging my night.
I once blackened the sun, and laughed at my shadowed mind when I was freed by the pain, but somehow forever stricken by the eternal sorrow.
And now the dawn doesn't change the night into anything.
Where are the returning birds? Are they too saddened by the long flight back?
Will they not scar my skin to save me this year?
The silence of their now resting wings and the showing signs of blood from the journey appears in each dream I see. I've missed every single one in its own unique way. All the tiny hairs on my aching body stand straight with the fear of being alone in your mourning.
You were once all the empty space to me, I was never alone in my struggle when you were twitching beside me from the questions and the fear of acknowledging my night.
I once blackened the sun, and laughed at my shadowed mind when I was freed by the pain, but somehow forever stricken by the eternal sorrow.
And now the dawn doesn't change the night into anything.