Tomorrow is never the day that I think it will be;
I always wake up
and the world keeps turning,
people still draw breath
and the questions are still there,
waiting to be answered.
For every beat of your heart,
for every time you inhale,
there is something left unsaid
until the unspoken words fill volumes of silence,
binding breaking with the weight
of my ambiguity
and your questioning looks.
There was never a correct course to take,
my sextant could never find the horizon
and there was no map to be had.
I dream of being crushed under the weight
of chainmail
and black latex,
suffocated by the ash of dragons
and dust of stars.
Hillsides burn as I pass,
lives unlived because of mistakes made
and mistakes given life only to prove a point.
I wear you like a cloak
and become a mirror of what you want,
my mouth says the words that you fear
in the voice that you want to wrap yourself in,
and so much is forgiven
because of the picture painted
on the flesh that you see.
I become what you need,
just don’t hold on too tight
because the hills are made of those that wouldn’t let go.
Storm Filled Sky
