this doesn’t mean anything, nothing
nothing at all-
do i have to tell you what i’m thinking?
i play imagined flowers,
during quiet hours
i forgive the passage of time,
with seeing my youth
as a ripple in a pond.
you don’t get it, do you?
to relive, release yourself-
i’m a million little pieces, scattered with sunshine,
touching paint splatters.
i realize now i’m rambling,
a line of thought caught the wrong train.
i wish you could tell what i’m thinking…
you’re just like the others,
facing a mirror of regret,
blinking back at you every morning.
you won’t get it, will you?
because time will erode you,
until one day, you wake up
with the realization we had with our first breaths.
i wish i could tell you what i’m thinking.
yet, why should i fill myself up with pebbles,
and you wring me out as sand?
relinquishing tides of greatness,
all to succumb to the forefront
of my own anxious mind.
won’t you tell me what i’m thinking?