F-r-a-n-k-l-i-n

We're lovers fighting. Close enough to know the painful things to say and hurt enough to be reckless and say them. We don't mean it, but it doesn't matter anyway because we're not really listening to each other, just shouting, each trying to drown out the other's voice. Now, as I pack my bags full of clothes you're hurling down the stairs at me, wondering where I'm going to go, I suddenly think back to that night where I took your hand and I told you that you were my world. That you were beautiful. That night that you kissed me. The kind of kiss where the barriers between us lost meaning and we ceased to be individuals, but instead were som

For a breeze, I thought I knew the wind, And I wore the skin of beasts. And I learned to live with it. For a gentle shower, I thought I knew the rain. And I built a shelter of sticks, and dirt. And I shut myself in. And I was safe. But with the tempest came knowledge, that I did not know the wind, nor the rain. But knowledge came too late. And with the tempest came pain, as my fragile shelter came down on itself. And the wind taught the dirt its ways. And the components of my shelter turned on me. Each particle, a projectile. Making rags of my simple garments. And the elements tore at my flesh, and carried me away upon the wi

She was the gull who flew against the wind. She was the salmon who swam upstream. She was always being told what she could and couldn't do. She was always proving people wrong. She was the girl who told me anything was possible. Who taught me to weave the wind. Breathe water. Tame fire. Shatter earth. She was the girl who showed me anything was possible. Who held my hand and led me to my death.

Form is transient, Shapeless and incomplete Solidity, fleeting. This Illusive Reality. Beautiful and intricately simple. Concentric Dreaming. Fabricated sense of self. Fact built on falsehood. Fortress built on cloud. This Elusive Reality. Passing memory. Concentric dreaming. Circumnavigate the infinite. Count your steps. Dance into the void. Count your steps. March forever onwards. Count your steps. This Illusive Reality. Captivatingly Inescapable. Concentric Dreaming.

Empty now. This tired traveler. This disillusioned dreamer. His fiery passion, now consumed by bitter truth. Empty now. His spirit broken by the cold night. His prayers left unanswered. Empty now. This seeker of truth. This free man. Free, and empty now.

Though his wings are small, Still, the Bumblebee takes flight, As his mind is free.