Return To Sender - Poem by Mr. Tale
I want to tell you how I feel.
I don't want you to know anything about me – not my name, not my age, not my story.
Nothing important there,
I just want to tell you how I feel.
All my friends are sand drifting in the winds of a dessert I walked into without knowing.
I don't want to stay in this dessert, but I bet you'll find me here tomorrow.
The stars here are negligence towards those who look. They will let you come close, smell their shine, see their beauty, but you can never touch, oh drifter, you can never touch. They won't let you.
My compass is a cruel joke, as my dreams lead my conscious to the last dropp of water I've spilled miles ago, before I started drinking sand.
My memory is a box filled with written monuments, driven on long rivers of ink, over miles of sand.
This drowning sand is my shiny past, thriving on the black forgotten liquid going through my veins, calling it my heart.
No water there, my friends, no water there.
My partnership with myself and any trace of reason was lost when I stopped believing in words.
Words make the mouth dry, and like the sand or the stars, they will eventually make you want to cry.
But don't shed a tear.
These last drops of water will eventually cause you to disappear, but then again…
Oh, drifter, drifter, sweet drifter of mine.
These monuments are tomb stones, or drowning sand, or just another glimpse of time.
And if you, who have read so far, still wonder why, means you're stuck in here with me, my friend, please say goodbye.
Or return to the sender.
They'll know it's mine.
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