who could call us friends?
not the calm, calculated kids, who
figured out the mysteries of the world-
like trails from jets we streaked
(across the sky, but we were only temporary).
this was me, a flaming memory.
defeated, dejected, down.
whatever happened to my memory?
people and places spill out at the seams.
i was young, i was naive, full of dreams,
as i tried to catch every falling leaf
(oh, how they darted and dived on
hidden currents of air invisible to my eyes).
this was me, a soaring dream, a floating leaf.
desperate, drained, young.
the times when the floor
is a more comfortable bed-
the shaking in my hands, the pounding in my head-
(thoughts are threatening, ever threatening,
like clouds of saline rain over the ocean.
the waves turn black and sweep me away).
this was me. this is it.
i think i will, rest my head.
i wish more than anything i could give it all away,
give it all up, and give myself up.
pull me, tear me, bend me, break me,
whatever you will, i won't-
(no, i can't) fight you anymore.
if you can't believe me, then leave me be-
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