This is me.
Alone in a world forbidden to speak,
I have a voice that cannot be heard
Among the shouts of the heartless.
They live their dream of being famous,
Just as I wish to be forgotten as Dust in the wind.
I desire to float among the stars
As a nomad that follows the clouds,
In an unthinkable place with a trail of
f o p i t
o t r n s (footprints)
and loneliness in my wake.
And I only wish to be a fish out water,
A black rose among white tulips,
I only long to be different,
And have no voice among the same.
If the world would fall to p i e c e s if you fell over the edge of the universe, would you run?
If you were stuck in a world that forbade you words,
Would you sing?
If you stared eye-to-eye with death,
Would you let him take you in his carriage?
Yes.
For the bindings of a book are only held fast until an "it" betrays the trust within it.
When the trust everlasting is broken, the pages begin to fall out and the seams begin to rip.
Those pages holding the labyrinth of words turn to ash, only to float in the winds of time.
I can