Middle of death and life sits me. Wondering through open doors wishing they were closed and falling into a routine of pointlessness.
Than cue the purpose. The X to my Y. Pointless converts into a dream, a dream of white fences and Sunday crosswords, lazy Sunday with a dog named Buster and watching Friends reruns. Only if this dream is a dream for two.
Walking the cold night, looking into the moon’s eyes and begging for guidance. Impossible to find something that you’ve already found and lost.
Saint's Muse 