drifting fox
I often sit alone,
as I'm prone to roam and go,
It's a quid pro quo of letting go,
Of knowing, falling would be slow.
As if throwing it all away would give way.
I often fall away, from that day,
the role I play
But not today,
Or yesterday,
Because Spectating might delay
What I relay every day.
It's an emptiness I can't describe
A wound they can't prescribe
Meds for.
Usually I can't decide
Who I'll be, outside
But I'll reside in the words they lied
The words they take pride in.
Drifting inside the walls
Of my head,
little voices calling dead,
they dread what I said.
The truths I gave away.
In fact I can't remember "good"
I should...
But I can't.
If I could, I would think back when foreign wood was all I saw.
The gaping Maw of nature.
But now the world has darker tones
Like broken bones
Or traffic cones.
It limits movement
And improvement.
And now that my heads on tight
It isn't right
I left that person long behind
And I don't like being reminded,
That kind words don't resonate.
Reasons I can't name
Blame reasons I don't know
Blame people that didn't grow
When I needed them to.
So in their stead, ill grow into whatever is needed.
Even if the real me becomes impeded.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘𝕻𝖎𝖓𝖊∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
robust vortex
midnight mist
wintry jay