Lost speechless, stunned, and frozen in the moment
My hands hold mist;
I cannot tell where the world ends and my soul begins
The blueprint hardened into stone before my eyes,
but forty five years later, my anchor still drags across an open sea
I turned off the chaos in my fucking chest,
but the quiet sounds like nothing
Standing in the dusk where I crave a light,
but fear the flame
My hands are full of little things,
yet, my palms feel so empty of a second touch
I am starving for someone to hold,
but terrified my own shadow will scare them off
I spend my life building homes out of people who refuse to unpack
I am lost in a maze of my own fucking making today,
too far gone for grace to find me