The Door is Swinging in the Wind

Fear of the future, froze the past.
We’re each thrown off the tangent trying to pinpoint exactly where we are
And who are we?
Futile and mangled individuals, dragging our heals through the sand
Watch you don’t catch the glass, buried where you least expected it
If you cut yourself again you may slip in the blood
Who’s blood, does it stain your hand?
The responsibility of another will see you fade away.
And then where will you dwell?
Can pick a hiding place in the masquerade ball, but don’t forget your masque
If they refuse you entry then you’ll face the dismantling rejection of the world at your feet.


You could try my arms again,
See if they can hold off the problem you found the last time you were there.
But this time is different because it is your will
The sermon of your own game.
How one mood can alter lives my friend
Like the past, present and future all in one room
Something locked up in the cupboard, forgotten
Not good enough for display


You’ve been haunting me, and I’ve long not believed in ghosts
Almost as abstract a notion as the human being
Perhaps a photograph can hold you, stop you degrading as fast as you do
To take a camera to you, an intrusive misadventure
You move so quickly from my room anyway, you exist in some distant month
I encroached on your space, I found the covers to be cold



What a substitute for loneliness, a beautiful fix for a time-
You were surely born for my mattress,
Leave your clothes and remnants from the outside world at the side
Your identity is here, beauty in the bed.
But I love you in your absence, so make my acquaintance at the door
I can never ask the questions, they’re all too intrusive
I cannot speak so loud, the door will end up swinging in the wind