What am I doing here?
What I've always done:
going the way I know.
Who am I now?
Who I've always been:
a child caged by illusions,
bound by an umbilical cord,
reluctant to exit the womb.
And now this:
she writes to me, so light and simple,
her hand is another that considerately kills.
She is simple and spiritual and adaptable,
she is honest and brave and beautiful.
Forever curious, with the strongest Will.
How I wish I had her abilities to know
when and how to hold on and let go.
How she writes out the words and burns them,
how she carves in the candle and
watches it melt away: could I
be like that one day?
And now this:
dreaming of her, still dreaming of her,
just one more thing that's tearing me up inside.
Just go away, you're too fucking wonderful,
too distant in space, too close in heart and mind.
I look away, but when I look back within
that place is still there, emotions still ravaging.
Memories of her face, our moments, my
unprecedented happiness and the high expectations
that went as quick as they came, seemingly
justifying my pessimism and rampant cynicism,
leaving me once again in the hands of
this venomous gravity.
I can have a will like that.
I can watch poisonous connections sever,
old wounds heal and negativity burn like the wick
and melt away like wax.
I can know when to hold on and let go.
I can learn to let my feet meet with the ground
and better will my levitation.
It's got to be time now to
get my feet on the ground.
It's got to be time now to learn
how to let go, defeat this gravity
weighing me down and
read the sign of the hand
that considerately kills,
then do what I've never done,
be who I've always been, but
would never let myself be.
What I've always done:
going the way I know.
Who am I now?
Who I've always been:
a child caged by illusions,
bound by an umbilical cord,
reluctant to exit the womb.
And now this:
she writes to me, so light and simple,
her hand is another that considerately kills.
She is simple and spiritual and adaptable,
she is honest and brave and beautiful.
Forever curious, with the strongest Will.
How I wish I had her abilities to know
when and how to hold on and let go.
How she writes out the words and burns them,
how she carves in the candle and
watches it melt away: could I
be like that one day?
And now this:
dreaming of her, still dreaming of her,
just one more thing that's tearing me up inside.
Just go away, you're too fucking wonderful,
too distant in space, too close in heart and mind.
I look away, but when I look back within
that place is still there, emotions still ravaging.
Memories of her face, our moments, my
unprecedented happiness and the high expectations
that went as quick as they came, seemingly
justifying my pessimism and rampant cynicism,
leaving me once again in the hands of
this venomous gravity.
I can have a will like that.
I can watch poisonous connections sever,
old wounds heal and negativity burn like the wick
and melt away like wax.
I can know when to hold on and let go.
I can learn to let my feet meet with the ground
and better will my levitation.
It's got to be time now to
get my feet on the ground.
It's got to be time now to learn
how to let go, defeat this gravity
weighing me down and
read the sign of the hand
that considerately kills,
then do what I've never done,
be who I've always been, but
would never let myself be.
