cyclocosmia

What precious memories we weave
to be overanalyzed and complicated
to be inspected deep for flaw
to be torn for fear of entrapment
what precious memories we weave
to be burned for fear of disease.

What precious memories we weave
to be cursed for justification
the warmest breath of the coldest shoulder
I drown in a sea of potential reasoning
what precious memories we weave
bittersweet umbilical defeat.

Torture: the lack of response.
Each day is an open door
lingering in the hall of forgotten homes
we wait for transgression to bring us closure
Torture: the lack of response.

Wait for the impact but it never comes around.
Wait for the impact but it's lost and never found.

There's a hope, it is swinging
I can see it way up high
hallucinations of a better tomorrow
those self-induced little white lies.

Just can't seem to give it up
somethin's gotta give
lost among the waves
pull me in.

and the ties that bind disintegrate
linger in the air
a formless, sunken feeling
like something once was there.
to pull me out.