Psychoneurotic, a Life

[you know, i could give some backstory to this OR some sort of like “inspired by:” or even the traditionally me “never experienced thing,” where the latter of the three would be the least true in this scenario. instead, i think some things are best left up to you to decide, interpret, encode, whatever~]

-

bearer of gifts, 

and keeper of secrets

why are you hiding?

alone in the darkness,

under shadowed rice paper

night will be the death of you.

sorrowed hands cannot hold fans.

teller of stories, 

holder of dreams,

hiding among your weave of lies

surely will not mend broken seams.

those you claim demons claim immortality.

one-winged angel, nothing

gets by you, you dark and cold seer

troubled at heart, tears shed in the

forest of fallen moon tears.

why do you ask?

they have already washed your sins.

why do you repent?

there is nothing to be forgiven.

keeper of secrets, my

bearer of gifts.

is remorse what you’re after?

holder of dreams, my

teller of stories. 

weights only burdening.

encased in your heart,

a crowd beats slowly 

surrounding the edges

making you very alone when you walk. 

i walk with just fringes 

your cloth for me barely stitched;

wondering,

when will finding each other be

simpler?

in dreams, in passing, in fairy tales

will i remember your face?

or do we still think

we’re better off alone.

resentment for their passing

remorse for their decrees

though many lives passing

more unattended soirees

if you will not,

i will find you myself.

things broken once 

can take being broken again; and

if twice will not suffice, then

thrice or more! or they can

whittle away at my whispers to you, but

they cannot stop my voice

channeling through the centuries,

the decades,

the years:

Find me. 

2005