The fire wildly dances the confines of my chest,
as I open my eyes that one day a week and prepare to go–
we’ve talked about this, and everybody should be there—
No. No one. Not a single soul.
I kept on for a few weeks, as the embers die out.
The music remains, that’s all that’s left.
I look around me and see that everything is meaningless.
Meaningless. Wasteful. Draining.
Exploited. Trying to exhort with all the effort
I can muster, I’m not after your laughter
or whatever reward. I just want to be on fire again.
But I am all out and you notice and you draw it out.
And now, you notice and now you conjure the words
to tell me what I already know a long time ago.
I have outgrew whatever it is that you are trying to grow into.
Now I think to myself, how to tell you.