By david On December 15th, 2003

i want to run and hide
from the real, from the world,
from a part of me i know has died.
so why am i so callous,
why am i so cold?
why am i so frightened
by the thought of growing old?

and what has changed inside me?
what, if anything, makes sense?
why are we so captive to our earthly consequense?

i want to be something to someone
like i’m valid, like i’m pivotal, like i’m loved.
and i don’t want the footfalls to echo in my memory
to the garden that i could have owned

if the beauty of life’s a sunset, then i’m a silhouette,
why keep clinging to these empty chains,
i want to live life without regrets.

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