A dreamer, words on the page.
Perhaps I am the empty book,
Pages begging to be written on,
A chapter is coming, but here we are,
Change and travel on the way.
Fear of the change is slowly
Replaced by the need to escape.
The need to run away and be free,
A wild horse or a cat of some sort.
A free, running creature, trapped
Far too long inside the box,
The box too confining.
Words spilling out, a rushing of
self onto this white, now colored page.
Words, only swirls and lines and
Drawings; how really is it you
Rain, lovely, fresh and a freedom.
I want to melt away into the rain,
Pour out onto the ground and
Spread out all over everywhere.
To melt away and cling to you.
I see you, outside, and I, as a raindrop,
Would land on your face,
The closest I’ll ever be to you.
I’d stay, Love.
You always hope they’ll come after you.
To catch, ask you what’s wrong,
Persistently till you tell.
But they never do.
Never care enough and
If you die,
It doesn’t matter.
This, the greatest story,
Is the cruelest of them all.
The beautiful are ugly and
Alone because they are
The dreamers are given wings
So that they will fall much farther
And break far more bones.
They’ll fall from the sky,
Beautiful stars falling in the sky.
The Beast has taken everything from me,
And then given me a thousand false hopes.
I’m stuffed full of false hopes.
I myself simply am a false hope,
Relyed on by other dreamers.
When I break, then they
Will fall as well.
Scars, oh scars of my broken self,
Feeding the Beast.
There are no true friends.
They are false as well, bridges
Breaking slowly, and I will fall.
I always do, having dared to
Friendships are impossibly
Frail, but I continue to hope
In those too.
Hope itself seems to be a Beast.
It is the worst liar.
As is fellowship: I don’t actually
It’s all just a lie.
Each day is a lifetime,
And a week is far too many
Lifetimes for me to handle.
Change, oh change, I once resented
You but now I long for you,
I beg you, please take me with you.
I want to be a raindrop, lifetime
So short but so full,
With no regrets,
Only a living of life.
I wish you were here,
All of you so lost to me
No, false hopes, leave me.
You were wolves and now
You must leave the carcass
To finish rotting.
The ravens, that is, anything
Else besides false hopes,
Need their fill as well,
And though you have
There’s still some flesh
On these bones
To be ripped off and eaten,