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.