do you know how it happened?,
it was during one restless night, they're a common occurrence now
every night, each dawn,
i try to pull the home-grown thorns from outside my head
and they'll cling, because every part of me loves so deeply,
holds so tightly. holds too much
even when it doesn't mean to.
i wake up sweating, terrified, late.
and i face myself time and time, and god i can't write it down.
i cant write nor speak, so i yell.
all the blank pages, one unfinished after another,
not art block, but perhaps death. who died? who am i mourning?
who am i always mourning when i haven't begun to live?
I sing "So long, Marianne" because I yearn for a laugh,
at the fact that i need to live for so many but myself,
that the last time I felt alive, was inside a pitch dark theater,
at a singer's cry, frighteningly beautiful and so much. Too much.
i do not fear who i am anymore, nor do i dare look at myself in the mirror
perhaps there's no one there. perhaps there is,
and that's why i run from my reflection.
so, do you know how it happened?
how it all escaped. became a dream for restless eyes.
for anxious hands, and decaying tongues.
how it all warped, lost its meaning.
when everything became memories, or supertition.
it happened when it ended, but i didn't let go.
Clung to so much, too much, nothing at all.