There is within me a question,
Singular and not well-hidden.
I am no master of illusions
Nor do I draw proper conclusions,
Always lost in thought,
Losing the world and losing time.
It all fades away
Like so many lines in the distance.
I cannot very well hide
The poison in my heart,
Nor the cure it says would save me.
There is a smile bleeding through
My tissue paper facade of nonchalance.
And I feel so warm and whole with it
Plastered there silly as it seems.
And with all these feelings and smiles
And thousands of miles,
How is it that there is so much still
Hiding away in a grave of fear?