my hearts weight, the feeling in my throat, and eyes that knew light of the sun better than astronomers, it manifests itself on my visage
under lids that cover the truth, bags that cave so deep in they pierce through my brain
i write to slow down, to walk and sway, though the wind sings a different song that could silence the ancient scholars that once chose their paths
everywhere i look all i see are roads, carved in the shape of only one shoe, curling and twisting, leading me astray back to my soul's demise
i have never known love until i met myself, a field so isolated, grass overgrown, surroudned by river as if the last source of water on the planet
in my heart i've been there, with so many ideas of what i might be like, addicted to it like to music, lived to become it, a page with purpose, a life with none, i found it, waking up with closed eyes, cursing, scars of fingernails,
growing, undead, cursing in another language, basking in the new moon's glow, thus with every ace seeking scents and touches tender and violent, familiar with the world, similiar yet unfamiliar to me, mirrors that shattered
to be myself, i hated that field, i could name every strand of grass and draw the curve of every horizon, i heard of the great myths brought to me by zephyrus, my love, the unknown, myself
echoing my voice, its timbre so soft, i know it, i would love to love it and see myself obsessed with something else than my self
