One night I will dream of a cartography
Of days past in my life
Of immersion and silence
When there was time,
Always yet time.
The future came and went,
And so did I.
Yet still I persist
Smoldering in thirst and fear.
And so I will burn these maps,
For they are not my own.
These dreams – they are not even my own.
I will set fire to them
And plunge headlong into today
As if tomorrow it were my turn
To hang with the lost
Of days past.