Toys in the Chest

Witherless upon dimension,

In which, I choose to secede.

Tiresome I’ve grown, as the astral grasp of my spirit has born demure tenderness of which I know no appreciation.

Hopes aimless and I too,

Choose to be forgotten.

Of which it is to hold in my mind, dear –

I’ve decided I want to stay with you; for you, you of all you’s I’ve encountered.

I feel my sadness linger as your echoes reveal themselves in every face, of all the ones that say hello..

Then abruptly leave.

Seldom do I wish to stay focused on this feeling.

Perhaps loneliness is no state of mind, forced upon choice?

I don’t think it quite correlates either.

I hope you see the way to fruition.

I don’t know what’s been made of myself lately anymore; we’re onto something new entirely…