Will I be devoured–
By another one of you?
Or will I be powered–
By hatred of feeling blue?
In this stillness of moving time,
They say you’re just like any other,
Fate has not committed any crime,
To this worsening weather.
But it is you, you are the fault,
Because you, you are the only one,
Able to cut the momentum of a catapult,
Prevent defeat, and say you’ve won.
Drained of colour,
Pinned with doubt,
I wish to feel as light as a feather,
And with the wind I’d go about.