The tick of the clock and the coo of the chime

We even forgot our own name

Dismembered the frame of the eerie sublime 

We even forgot our own name

Exclaimed unto no one the horror of pains

We even forgot our own name

Destroyed the old bird, mashing up its remains 

We even forgot our own name

A day or a moment; a month or a year 

We even forgot our own name

A chalice upon it has crumbled in fear

We even forgot our own name

Exposing the gears and the metal within

We even forgot our own name

A pile of the cuckoo just sits now; a grin

We even forgot our own name

And now in the mirror we look at just one

We even forgot our own name

As two, maybe three, or some more, never done

We even forgot our own name

The doctor has entered; the scene goes away

We even forgot our own name

The medicine helps, but my thoughts cannot stay 

We even forgot our own name

"So, Steven, how are you? Do you recognize 

The meaning of what I just said?"

And just for a moment, in clarity's guise

All voices desist in my head

And when he is gone and the pills meet the flush 

Remarkably, I play the game 

Again in the mirror, I welcome the rush

We even forgot our own name ...

I looked at you with a fiery passion of love and you looked at me with sad, cold eyes. Yet you have the kind of eyes that I could drown in. On cold nights I wanted to pull you close for warmth and protection but your heart was colder than any weather I'd been in. I was hungry for your love but you starved me out, even as I desperately tried to feed off any warmth that your soul provided. I ran the race to claim you as my prize, but you never showed up for the award ceremony. I fought to catch your gaze, and when you finally looked at me with love and compassion, it was too late. 'Fore I was on the ground in pain and agony from all the times I took a bullet for you.

and little one, the world you hold

won't remain so fantasy pure

as twigs and strings and dizzy birds.

those sparrow tunes turn sorrowful in time,

those crows take on a beauty blue

and the in-betweens of lovely and wrong

grow difficult to decipher, as you may too.

but in this moment your auburn locks

nest right atop your sing-song head

which will fill with sticks and stones and silly words.

and little one, the world you behold is brittle,

so hold it gently.

How did you do it?

It was solid, strong

Unbreakable

No one had been able to make it crumble

But somehow you did

How did you do it?

I cherished it, kept it close to me

It was a part of me

I was safe, protected

But somehow you changed me

How did you do it?

Was it your way with words?

Oh, how they flow so gently in the air,

Like the warm wind on a beautiful April day

I never knew it could be done

But somehow you proved me wrong

How did you tear down the wall around my heart?

You were swift, sneaky even

I fell for you, and I fell hard

I didn't even know it at the time

But somehow you did

How did make me love you so easily?

How did it happen so fast?

How will I ever build my wall again?

I bet that, somehow, you know the answers.

You always do.

I fed it a rat every night. I would leave it in a box under my bed and the next day there were bones. Now it doesn´t want to eat anymore, instead, it wants to lick my feet when 

I´m in bed. It pains me for the tongue is coarse and stings... it leaves wounds like slashes. But I let it, you see, I don´t want to make it angry and I´m afraid it will ask me to call someone else again. The last time I did, Mom was the choice. I was very upset about that. Mom had seen my feet but they healed so fast that no doctor would believe her. In the mornings it wispered to me, told me things about people I know, about my family. They said at the hospital that the voices would get better with the pills. They were wrong. Now it´s demanding that the house be burned, that I make a fire with matches and fuel and Mom´s books. It promises that in the light I will see it´s face, and hers too. Oh, I really want to see Mom... so I will. Why did she insist on taking me to another doctor? That forced me to take care of her. It murmurs that I have to sit still and breathe... that the fire didn´t hurt the witches, or Joan of Arc. "Who´s that?" I ask. It just laughs while I start coughing.

Watch as everyone moves in learned and rehearsed patterns, mirroring those that have walked before them. They follow the footprints, dig into them with the soles of their shoes until the imprints in the dirt are bottomless—until the path is unmistakably clear. The steps become habitual and the words believable. There’s water and shade and flat ground to follow, so they all follow, and it’s all the same. 

Some days I can't breath. 

We’re living and dying in these never-ending circles, chasing and becoming one another. Maybe there’s a barrier, I think—some mountain none of us are able to scale, but I can't see it. I look around from time to time to see the land, stretching out before us all, grazing the sky in the distance. We keep walking, retracing steps. I glance back up to see the way overgrown grass looks when the wind blows, thinking maybe I’ll finally go and see what it feels like to run my fingers through the blades, but it’s gone.