Wrong on the Horizon

Perhaps the words have not come in so long because there has been that feeling of "drive"... that presence of purpose (albeit empty) of power on the mirror and nights to be filled with sweat in lieu of song.

But again, here, under crashing chords that only serve to mute the cacophony that has been rumbling endlessly since last night.

And I search the room now with an eagle's eye, wondering who and carving her presence into my heart, inching out the small part of myself that I have gained back and then marvelling and my insecurity and self-inflicted injury.

And it seemed so appropriate for a new page, but not now when I feel endlessly wrapped in a time warp...

The swallow of the past few years without the power...

Last night I felt as if I were drifting-- right out existence and severed from the cool mint of the pavement and sucked away from the density of the air and millions of miles away from the smelly sets of subway eyes that I used to stare into as if they were my own... .I owned them. And now... with a broken heart and an aching head and all of the pain, but in a much different way.

How my iced fingers are grasped, but they still fall... and I wonder why.

How could I have been so wrong about the horizon and why; when freedom fails, am I consumed by what I thought could die... I don't know...

I should let it all go, though... I know... Things are good and I can't forget it!