This muse will lay with the others in my private garden, where forget-me-nots and bleeding hearts hold the only color (too much sugar turned the roses and violets gray).
Is it best to leave it all behind?
For now, I sail on through the vast nothingness of the sea. With time I have learned to respect its currents, and through experience, how to spot the sirens before I heard them. Some creatures must be left to their own environment; few have the desire to feel the wind.
Beauty is reflected through actions. It’s not the cause, as the effect is well past the source.
I plead for calm waters and warm sand between my fingers. I dream of the shade, and for shadows to take my own away. The skulls around my wrist remind me that everything decays, yet I continue the search for my heart. When I find it, I will finally be home.
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