Grace Whitewashed Green
You’re not a person.
You’re not a someone or a something.
You’re the home I live in.
You’re the hope that I have,when I’m on my knees.
There’s a dull ache inside of me
And with this ache, my thoughts are becoming distorted.
Does he love me? Am I becoming who I’m supposed to be?
Can a single life be shortened?
Years and Years before
You’re still here with me.
You’ve become so much to me.
You’re who I want to be, with.
I want to bump into you, on a lonely train
Listen to you whisper my name (after all the times I’ve sung yours).
On Earth I’ve met many forms of life,
I felt things I should’ve just brushed aside.
There is no life,
When I live mine-wandering about yours.
Everything I continue to careen through
I’m rushing a slow existence, on earth I spend all of my time worshipping,
You.
You You You.
This need will continue to grow inside of me-
Inside of the blue veins pumping our lineage to my heart.
I can no longer conceal-
Conceal the moon behind the rays of your light.
The air in the atmosphere has become clumsy to my traveling soul,
I want to breath again.
I want to love someone again;
I want to love someone the same way,
I loved you-
The same way I loved the stars in our universe.
Your love for everyone is a blessing and a curse.
With every undeciding footstep, I’m deaf to a simple love.
No longer do I hear the encouraging words;
Or the near inaudible voice whispering in my ear.
No longer will I believe in the singing of grey birds
You know more of my fears(than I ever will).
Do I need someone to be there?
Guiding me along the entire process?
It’d be selfish to assume I’ll find everything within prayer.
I’ll chase after you as the week begins to disappear.
Again it’s a rainy Sunday.
I’m-barely-existing within the bottle rockets exploding too high,
And I’m daydreaming of a non-existent fantasy that replays-in my mind
everytime,
every time I long for some sweet sound, silence meets me harshly
Harsh as the winter snow, the same color as my skin
and my entire life.
How does this cause me physical suffering
When you were all of my emotions?
I long to care for more things
I’ve have stolen enough air, I want to become a wave
In the ocean.
Stolen in with the tide, living and dying by predisposed
sulfide.
I don’t believe you can die from a troubled heart,
But troubled, I am.
I don’t believe I’ll leave the ground from anything,
other than your hand.
Being by myself is what terrifies me
Being content by myself; they believe in me
But do you?
Do I?
If I could leave this season behind,
I’d trade my warm covers;
For a safe haven with you,
For a dream full of colors.
All of my dreams are in black and white,
All of yours are pictures of my face.
Pale skin and green eyes basking in the sunlight
If you don’t care for me, I’ll bury your grace-in my nightmares
And live under the leaves.