Pick My Bones

 
Guided hands find pleasure in the anticipated curve in the road.

Follower like so;

trailing the knowledge from creation of thought to the fork in the road where two notions wait for approval.

I could stand here all day contemplating the ways of the bends,

speculate what happens....

from here and never move forward or create a path to walk alone.

Overthinking is my tenderness,

the tide of change in my waters, weighing the possibilities,
jigsawing them piece by piece

apart.

Should I choose to sway with the prisoners,

wandering in herds in either direction,

When is my thought my own?

I could beat the paths with sores on my soles,

bleeding in inability to venture beyond the pastures,

But why fence myself in one place that is unchanged day to day?

Why press an opinion too my embodiment,

leaving this voice too be carried away to die on unrelenting winds?

Black and white never suited my personality,

always needed the closure that carries in the sky when purple, blue and velvet slowly faded away from night.

I was never an open book,

but one stuck in limbo on the shelf,

awaiting a voice too dare bury their face beneath my leather bindings,

breathing my knowledge into prying lungs.

Could another ever hold this burden?

I can only venture my soul alone hoping...
someone will have the want and courage too follow.

Alone I weather the unknown...

Did you know?

While contentment lays in the wake of irises I move towards...

Towards the sound of my fears echoing upon an eerie wind.

Where change is certain and nothings apparent...

But where I am sure...

No one lashes me with their falsified wisdoms...

Where it is not unlikely to stumble upon my own reflection in the shadows.

Wilting is excepted in this hour...

Rejection doesn't bleed...

Primal instincts have led me here...the running away...has brought me to no escape...

And I like it that way.

Pick my bones....bite my lip...

Oh how dreary loneliness is