My. Eyes. Open. What does it mean to be
Remembering the past. Picturing the future.
Is it all a dream? What's real?
Shouts on the mount. Are they no more than whispers?
Secrets, told to ourselves over and over again,
Are they nothing more than declarations of our failures?
Cooped up in my mind.
Often it goes off on its own. My mind goes
Over a bridge and jumps off the train of thought.
Pulling it back is not a battle my body is willing to fight.
Eyes. Closed. Eyes. Open.