The want of something, with the knowledge of nothing;
Impeccably thought, redundantly realised.
Sitting back against the tough leather,
Waiting for the cackles of the rotten hags.
Littered the streets in utmost contempt.
Rallying against the heiress’s henchmen;
A force of a million suns.
And yet they whisper, ‘stay, do not run!’
Groveling in the street’s putrid drains.
Accused and cursed, burned, egregious.
Whittled down, strewn from humanity.
With the waiting of months, years, and decades.
Needing and wanting, nothing sacred.
Skin touching stone and wood,
Unearthing destinies from the old and young.
And yet, nothing of skin to skin.
Dreaming of picnics,
Hand in hand amidst the blustery winds.
Crossing forgotten walls, only breathing.
‘Whisper in my ear…’ she tells me;
Though, I find words do not form in this lucid land.
Stricken, ruptured – wandering the void.
Free in the free lands – feeling aside.
Wandering around the dreamworld,
In the search of something to commandeer reality.
And so, I hold her hand as the light fades.