There are generations of us
pulled through a tiny hole,
some of us make it through,
while others get stabbed
with the sewing needle.

And there are twists inside
of us, and turns we must
navigate, through the sunset,
words keep spilling out of us,
when we fight wars no one
knows about, but some of us,
get tired of seeing the words
fade when we don't write them
down, and seeing our dreams
disappear into the next day, if
we don't tell ourselves, to
remember.

So we forget, and the music
we loved, turns old, and the
friends we had, can't be called
that anymore, though we still
watch them, to see where their
souls went, which direction,
stuck to the ground or floating
in the sky or just like you, in
the in-between, where shadows
hold you, you're captor, but they
all seem the same, when teenage
angst cuts adulthood short, we
see only the faces we knew,
as they were.