I pace only inwardly
The outer portrait of repose
Dignified, gleaming like white gold
I am happy, I am safe, I am still,
My glittering, hard, polished-cloud tower stands yet
But demented vines grow in the greenhouse at its center
Rumbling, crumbling, creaking, stretching
Perhaps you can already see the cracks in the alabaster and plaster?
I amassed each word you ever spoke into volumes
and locked them away, but
Now I struggle to remember even a simple verse
from your lips
I know what the cure is; I am no fool
One lyric, and when I hear it, I am healed
But you do not call for me.
And I do not call for you.
It would not be as potent starting at my own hand
And I still have my pride