There goes this for the long empty nights.
Silent screamers with lonely eyes.
Searching for life in the buried alive.
Too wild to die, too tamed to live.
Breath and choke and gasp and suffocate,
This suffering knows no ends.
Assembling the broken, piling the bent
Exhaling soul through the hollow vent.
It's treacherous. It's dubious. It's everything that's not us.
It's misleading and mischievous.
I'm longing, I know. Belonging? No.
I'm caught up, or so.. I'll fall? No.
I have tears to hide and miles to walk
I've scars to cover and wound to heal
I have a forest to escape and a fear to face
I'm running around loops in a narrow maze.
Do I know? No. Do I want to? No.
All I do, is I don't.
Do I care? No. Am I scared?
Does it matter? Yes. Am I bothered? Yes.
Will I go back home?
But this forest looks so tempting.
Doesn't it always? (somehow isn't it always about us?)