Clockwork

Time again for a night filled with thoughts
A dark blanket turned white with soundless words
Embroidered upon it with pain
-staking precision
I'm forced to ask myself: why?
No answer. The question is lost amongst the words

My thoughts lit up by a sphere of colored light
Still, nothing makes sense tonight,
Any night; of course it's not right

Too many people.
As I try to figure out where I stand
I stumble, everyone is there, no one takes my hand
Then again you can't expect more
Everyone already holds a hand
Yes, see it there on the dark blanket?

The city is people. The people are trees.
The wind blows through the trees. A whistle, a moan
A longing. The trees want the wind. The trees resist the wind.
The trees take it, they bend.
Day; night. Close; open.
I am the city. I am the trees. I am the wind.
Mark the time and state of being.

No, I feel pain but I am not hurt
I cannot see what plagues me
The world must not exist, it is not here now
Come back?
Uncertainty
The blanket holds no words