Why did it all end up like this?
So blue, and pale, and cold, and cruel?
Screams, running, lies, hiding?
Pacing hallways shadows crawl;
Scared of corners; turning fools.
Back-track two weeks back,
two weeks back, I’m on the track;
This week I fell off those tracks,
from the train some couldn’t catch.
A fear of confinement haunted me,
the who know, the more who see,
all you wanted was for me to break free.
Free from where this dying flame starts,
all from but a tiny spark.
This spark ignited you and I,
“You and I,” I thought, “would fly.”
Your hands warm against mine, frozen,
“How,” I ask, “was I chosen?”