If I love you, will you love me? If I decide that the clouds are coming over, that the stars align. Treat me how you want to treat me. Teach me what you think I should know. Take me out when the time suits you right. Call me back in your own time. If I die, will you hold me until you die? Will you be there, beside me, the willow on the rye?
If I see you look at me, what does it mean? Can I tell you everything I’m thinking? And are your eyes wandering intentionally? Is it everything for me to see them glistening? Did i hear you say, my hearts allowed to listen in on it?
The year my grandma died, I stayed with my grandfather all summer. He taught me the three p’s and how to turn a seed into a dinner. “Would I ask you to stay if I didn’t need you?”
Am I the new ordinary boy? Is this the truth, wrapped inside an eggshell? Is this the youth with everything they ask for? Is there anything?
Ageing skin. An only child you once were, no children of your own; lonely growing up and lonely growing old.
(Once, your father was as young as you are. And one day, you’ll be as old as he is now.)
Is it odd that I see myself when I watch you sleep? Sweet dreams. I’ll be here for as long as I can be, but we’re all ageing and things are set to change.
There comes a time, in all our lives, when we realise we’re going nowhere. There comes a time, in all our lives, when compromise is every answer. There comes a time, in all our lives, dissatisfied and left to wonder why the time just passes by – we can but wait until it’s over. We were young once, honest in our innocence. Look around; don’t be afraid if your head is in one thousand places. Look around, you’ll observe, that’s just who we are.
Here we go again – promising everything. What will you do when they lie to you? Will you lie too or derail? Well here we go again – brick walls and banged heads. You will be still breathing, deceiving.
So long now – forever I’ll be so unsure, forever searching for the right way. Hallucinating sun marks, in the visions of my eye. Holding on, getting by. Unconvinced of anything. Overwhelmed and over-worked. Focus on the source of the light. Frightened by the passing of time. Static and stationed – hallucinations – sun marks in the visions of my eye.
30-years-ago, today, you were born, into the arms, of a stranger – now a mother, you share half your life with. You didn’t know what love was, but in months, the way she held you, meant you knew, and then in years, the way he held you, meant you knew.
It’s not the sound of sirens, it’s the silence that still haunts you. It taunts you. In bed – when the head voice won’t rest – haunted by the lack of emptiness, distressed by the the constant syntax.
You are not alone. Carry me home.