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It’s blank like the snow outside my window
A slit of my cell- I see my face staring back at me
From the glass mirror my eyes stare back at each other
Accusing me of burning them.
I thought I would be able to paint a new day
Stuck in a cell- again, I know.
I can see the snow like a blank template,
and I wished life were always as simple as that white seems to show me.
I don’t know when I stopped being who I was.
But these reflected eyes are made of embers
I can't see your face anymore, even in my mind the snow is falling down too fast and too hard.
And I think I might be dying.
'Cause I’m fairly sure I’m not living anymore, I know the melodramatic mask suits no-one.
Yet, wherever I am now, lying in the dirt of my city
Boston’s snow is stained by my blood,
Who could save it now?
My hopeless hands can’t type how beautiful you are,
So you slowly sink to grey and background weariness.
When I failed to see how blank a template I was before I inked it black
Could I possibly have seen the blankness of the spring snow?
Why ask so much when you expect nothing? A question for a question...
It tried so hard to teach me how not to cry, didn't it? To wipe the face away....
I’m learning how to sink, in a way I could never do before
I’ve learned to shed my wings for arms of lead
So maybe I should say goodbye, while I fade into oblivion, perhaps.
Just another somber shade of funeral grey
While the snow falls outside the slit of my window
I throw myself out, praying to fly.