With silence behind us,
and motions, aside;
in waves, come hesitance,
with you, right beside.
with this fist raised high,
and my mind, floor deep,
little is sacred, this much,
at least, we've learned.

with everything, comes nothing,
and with a load of everything,
here we are.
in solitude, find me,
this is not where you belong.

home of ghosts, den of angels;
this is nowhere to be sought.
tiny dancers, fragile women
shed your tears, now, but no more.
in jungle, to shine sky castle,
pon glorious treetops and clouds,
delicate wings no longer sink here,
little birds no longer fly.

I would have left it to my mouth, to carry you,
when your legs were overwhelmed.
there is no room for forgetting,
only forgiveness is just a word for love,
and as much of a floorboard it is,
it's still the sacred ground that exists, for you.

is it wrong that I can no longer trust myself,
to be in charge of this?
or is the problem simply, that I've forgiven you,
but can no longer forgive, or forget, myself?