Is the love I feel towards others genuine?
I ask myself that question.
Any reality in the character I present?
Yet again, I ask myself that question.
There is something so dualistic about our nature
Though the self is found inbetween
We fleet and flit, twist around and turn
Tangled and mangled contridictions
I long to open up my soul completely
But to be open is to leave it for the crows to pick
And to be closed is to let a candles flame be extinguished
So, so tragically.
No matter where it goes, pain will surely follow it.
Seemingly, this condition is my way of being
Unwinnable sad games played on tear salted checkerboards
Attempting balance seems illusionary, persuing an impossibility
Ducking and covering from the inevitable tsunami
But perhaps solace one day will find me
After the wash has struck the bay
Amongst the towering grass, facing the sky
Within the glinting and glimmering of a lovers eyes
At the bottom of an old whiskey bottle
Being thread through the eye of a needle
Or as my body returns to ash
And rejoins the breeze
Which so cruelly created me.