Not for a moment have I quenched
my wild expectations...

Breathing days and nights
over and over
-I sustained...
Faces on a smoky mirror came and gone
again and again
-I remained...
Feelings shoved into me
only to be torn out later on
on and on
-I endured...

We scheme and plot our whole lives
making picture-perfect maps
of how our life and love would be
and what spells satisfaction...

And as the shadows still torment me with visions of "what if's",
with sweethearts never meant for me
and friends out of pure fiction,
I see my time is ending all the while...
Forgive me mother for saying this;
but is that it?
Was this all that's left for me?

Or did the crow who flew me here
from the Elysian Fields
as payment ...took my soul?

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