Ligature

All dressed up, and nowhere to go,
a child of the night, a dream of sorts.
And full of the cold, full of the rain,
full of sadness, forgotten…disdained.

What happens once, will happen once more.
Until we, as humans, are absolutely sure:
it’s not that we matter, it’s not that we stay.
it’s because we are only left to wither away

Only, left alone never felt any better.
Especially when remembering the idea of forever.
Just an idea, of course, but wished for in vain.
full of sadness, forgotten…disdained.

What’s alive is bought by a wandering hand
and given away to those who cannot understand.
They try and try, they fail, and they fall.
When roaming alone, you destroy it all.

Find something to salvage, find something to need,
far, far away from the idea of being freed.
Search for a soul, your soul, though it may be stained…
full of sadness, forgotten. Disdained.

When one comes alive in the midst of a storm,
one aches the most when broken and worn.
But at least one feels, at least one will know
what matters is where you will never go.

Wander, yes, roam far from here.
Learn to love and ache to hate your fears.
All you have left, all you feel will forever be strange
full of sadness, forgotten and maimed.