I am the fleeting sound of birds
I am stolen by the sky
I am the dust that gathers on tables and on bodies
I am lies told to pillows and I am curled in a ball
I am the pictures that play on the insides of eyelids
I am the sun, who is breaking through clouds with rays of purple spears
I am a whisper, pounding on the walls, trying to get out
I am an islands and
I am the boys who wears vines
I am the grinding of rocks into nothing
I am nothing; I have become part of something bigger