My mind laid open like a book,
Perhaps you'd like to listen.
The words, inside your mind, may glisten.
Just in case you wish to look.
Jumbled thoughts inside my head,
The voices of my memory.
Fleeting pages, my story,
Written here before they fled.
A steady decline in what you see,
Though your vision is not blurred.
Of pain and sorrow you are spared.
You do not hear my silent plea.
At first we all pretend to care,
For one another's allegories.
Romance, adventure, myth: our categories.
But our stories, told to the air.
