[Blue Jay!] Oh how you've been missed in my dreams [Blue Jay!] Return to me; lead me from my waking life [Show me!] What it means to be pure of heart [Give me clarity!] On what it means to live [a life without regrets] I want to live each day [as if under the shade of a great tree] Safe from the piercing gaze [of the sun and the terrors] of the moonlit night [Guide me to a realm] in which I can recover [from my faults, these mistakes] that have defined me [For so long] For so long.
Each night I dream of the lives of others who have it all and sometimes wonder if they dream of me when they close their eyes, do they see the hopeless man who drowns his demons in cheap liquor and barely scrapes on by, haunted by living ghosts. I may have veins of ink and though it seems they pen a life full of grief I swear there are times that I'm happy no matter how brief.
Blue on blue we start anew and tomorrow's not just another day, speak the truth, open your eyes to a brand new way don't love the life you'll never live, blue on blue
I always say I never meant to do the things I did, I'll blame it each day on being a stupid kid but I know somewhere deep down I did it all for selfish reasons, my moods and desires changing as frequent as the seasons and now all I have to show for it is a broken life and a trust in myself thin enough it might as well be transparent.
In this state I was not sleeping nor was I fully awake. I had retreated to the far corners of my mind. My imagination drafting up plots and characters then quickly tossing the narrative away. Honestly I was never sure where it was my mind ventured to in order to tell me these stories, or rather they were works of fiction or actual accounts of humanity being played out elsewhere in the past, present, and sometimes even the future. Perhaps each dream, each story was about me in a different reality, or in the most likely case it was my subconscious drowning the waking mind in fantastic accounts of moments that had halfway happened or never occurred at all. But if there's one thing I've learned it's that apathy will lead you to an early grave
I may have veins of ink and though it seems they pen a life full of grief I swear there are times that I'm happy no matter how brief.
Awakening to the sound of my own barren thoughts is getting old; will I awake to that great peace I have sought for so long? Will this clarity I have reached in the here and now transfer when my eyes are open? It is in this state where I am blissfully unaware of the life around me that I have found salvation and when the dawn comes I will be tormented by my own hell again. Can I ever truly be free of my own self?