So many

So many dreams seep from my ear, the amorous and perils of despair. I count the days of knowing nothing, but reaction. Sitting alone in this crowd I fall into the lulling sway of this underground chamber. In minutes, I'll be somewhere which pretends to be home. So many memories close in miles away from those steps, none which could ever make me smile. I was a fake then, a figment easily written off as happenstance. I came uncurled from a writer's frustration, took control of the disordered lines which made me. I never stopped untangling the center of who I was intended to be. Still, I wonder if it is the other way around. I can say today that there is "so many," but at the same time I am one of too few. Many days I know of the few days which have wounded me memorably and of those who sustain my existence. I get up wearily from my pondering slumber outside the station remembering so many times which I was alive after I was only really, too few.

Memory.

It hurts too much to remember those days, so hard to stop these tears coming from my slowing heart. Just to think about this memory, a feeling of that past makes me helpless. Never felt so bare I do right now,my own skin can barely contain me anymore. I want to slip back into sleep and never open my eyes again. Being embraced by the mystery and buried far from fear. Tomorrow becomes my fantasy and yesterday, my nightmare. In this small corner of my mind; I stay cold and writing this despair until I end. In the few moments in between each word there is a pause where a glimmer of something new, warm and passionate flows before the ebb.