It does not make sense
anymore.


I come in
here -- mirrored,
beyond myself,
whittled
somewhat eager:

Oppression,
I cry.

The stones stood for
the Sun
inside.

Still they stand and I'm
somewhere else
entirely.

--

I am jealous
of what they mean.

My thoughts come
Mirrored beyond

"I thought..."

So I leave trails
Being clever as I am

See who sees
And all of that.

All while my dignity
Forces me onward--

But nothing
works like it did.

It does not make sense
anymore.