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Thriving off a candle's faint light.

As I constructed a moon of the rocks.

Found down a street I walked, once.

When I was young, once.

Exploring induced by burning.

Wood lingering, between my thighs burning.

Thriving in demand of knowledge and proof, wondering.

Discussing a future that could’ve been built for you, with you.

 Calling.

 Calling the same numbers at twilight or in an afternoon.

Production of disturbance and interference.

Of a beautiful sound wave.

With an unfortunate turn of events.

I lost the words I used to sing.

I lost the language I used to write in.

I walk with a dictionary to compute phrases out of my mind.

And a map to not get lost in my thoughts.

But I die of yearning.

Yearning for a bright, shiny state of love.

A love I only knew through myself after years of struggling to take a breath.

 But in the complexity built in my neural hills and valleys.

 I feed my greed for knowledge.

I feed my grand ambitions.

And my mourning star of hope.

Burning in cores of iron and gold.

Dying in a supernova, I was reborn.

In celestial lands, cold to touch.

And hard to understand.

Yet I was born, again.

To try and fix.

And hopefully this time.

Understand.