Lose things to feel the most of me
Close to me
Hopefully
That path is beaten with some honor
A potter on a wheel of uncertainty
Yet certainly standing
Erected from engulfed flames seeking destruction
To birth something beyond a constellation
Feigning concentration
For the chance to hide away
This display isn’t mean for keeping
And weeping is more direct
Duress overflow to contempt
These years meant the first of me
The worst of me
Thirst and burst of thee
We fly for a chance again and again.
