The new me is becoming
Old fast.
Like a cherry car that depreciates
In value (is fucked)
The minute it’s driven off the lot.
I’m a collector
Of karmaflies and
Every time (I feel)
I have enough
I see in the distance two more fluttering
About elusively as if to tantalize
My desire.
I must have them!
So I enter the night with a dream
Catcher in hand,
Searching and seeking for
Something(someone?) that I know
Is waiting
Just for me.
In the black sky
I am so familiar with
Their glow can be seen
Throughout eternity.
They are lighthouses guiding blind ships
Towards an infinite shore
Of knowledge (home).
I’m a collector
But every time I think I have enough
I see in the distance two more fluttering
About elusively as if to tantalize
(Haven’t I been here before?)
This is becoming
Old fast.
Must keep moving forward
Stand still long enough and they will ask for your name.
Once labeled
You cant be you anymore.
In an instant you’re a statue, fixed solid in one frame of time
That never fully represented your being.
We are so much more than a name
Remember(what was I talking about again?)
Before this dream began (I was seeking for...)
I’m a collector.