• brown_ocolus 5w

    Into Dust

    I reach where I want to,
    With exhaustion from the climb.
    The night is when I stand,
    Among the fog as thick as snow,
    On the tip of a mountain,
    Taller than any around.
    Looking for the next step,
    I stand still; looking around,
    Careful to move, scared of the fall.

    The mountain unlike any,
    Not by rocks, but is made of me.
    My insecurities, my fears,
    My paranoia, my insanity.
    Standing on the mountain,
    Is standing on myself,
    Reminding me of what I am.
    Underneath is nothing but smoke,
    Burying the way up.

    Alone there with my thoughts,
    I think of things that was.
    Cursing past choices,
    Pitying my kiths and kin,
    And everyone I've met,
    For what I was to them.
    Nobody to blame than me,
    I sit down still, like the night.

    Closing my eyes,
    Soaking my cheecks,
    I sit with my thoughts,
    spinning them around into a web,
    Dreaming of a day without me.
    A day with a clear sky,
    Filled with joy and not misery,
    Filled with everything but me.

    The wind starts to blow,
    Carrying me in to the air,
    Onto grounds that doesn't exist,
    Beyond borders that were never built.
    On the journey I see souls;
    Visions of people I know,
    People who were never mine,
    And the ones I thought who were.

    Closing my eyes again,
    I fly with the wind, to the clouds.
    Trying to be a part of something;
    Like I did in the ground,
    I fly and fly and fly.

    A soul is all I am by now,
    My flesh now ashes,
    Flowing with the same wind,
    But On the ground way beneath.