Ever feel that lump in your throat?
Ever sensed the cutting edge of night?
See it now or forever lose the tragedy,
Of what my feelings are stealing away,
The words slip away as if they never existed,
That horrifying feeling of never being told,
This comes with the winter solstice just like death,
Hang onto anything, even the last emotional foliage,
The ever passing letters that don't get sent,
The dead that never get a passing visitor,
Forgetting who I am is less painful than having
to actually live with myself.
Escape me. Pretty things. Don't shred me down to strips.
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