Detached in Imagination

Rolling waves, and staggering seas.
Wind being inhaled and exhaled out of me.
Fire twisting, igniting burning light.

Stars and planets to look up to through the night.

Thoughts in broken pieces and loss of memory or explanation.

All I feel is a pang. A sting. A burn. That continues to pulse through my entire being.

Taken up by beating sorrows captured in my heart.
Unwilling to let go and be released through my brittle veins.

A pen in my hand can't move, a thought in my mind can't breathe.
An eye in the dark cannot see.

Demand to be shot through a forest and lose your way home.
Contained with useful actions and communication.
So you won't have to think or learn
Just how to bear
everything you want ignored.

Im outside of my body, detached from the world.
And I am incapable of giving you an answer to anything of what it is in the world that is certain.
Or what is real.

The whistle of the wind, being wind.
I wish it were a friend.
That could tell me just what I am.