A light that beckons from a lamp.

The yearning of our innocence, the drawing to our roots.

It beckons you forth from the dark, it promises light and warmth.

It is only there.

You reach it and in the warmth you forget it all.

The dark is adaptable, however, it crawls in, reaches in, cools the lamp, dims the light.

You, You feel it coming, you worry, you shrug it off.

You know this will be the prime, and once the darkness proves you true,

turn to a warm bottle and find solace in there,

wonder why you never needed to before.

Wonder why you left your wisdom when wisdom comes with time and time has passed but you’ve been there and fell off from it.

This is you now and your mind is sick, it is nothing no one can solve but yourself.

You can’t, but if they can’t you’ve tried everything.

You worry about yourself.

You were amazing before, you were happy then,

you keep telling yourself to let go and accept this new life and stop reminding yourself of glory when it’s gone, but how can you forget good memories?

Where did they all go.

Where did you go.

Why did you go.

Who is it you’re becoming.

Where do you go.

Is and is to is that anything is right.

Take a match and burn your thumb before pressing it to the roughened thick paper,

brown and black it colors, brown and black is right.

I am not certain of many things.

I do not like to upset people often. I do not feel I have a point.

I cannot contribute well to this society. There it is, so what can I do?

I am not a thing of greatness.

I am not a thing of greatness.

There was once a day I felt great.

On that day, had I been given the chance I would’ve aqcuired heights in the heights of the standing sky.

On that day I WAS great.

Where did that day go?

 

Eighteen and I'm small in a world giants survive.

 

Then I was praised, and I was great.

Now, all that I am is afraid.

Then...

Again