Isaac Lyon-Freedman – Paper Thin

Isaac Lyon-Freedman

Merriment is lost on a face that does not rejoice
But melts in the rain
Form is lost on the body that does not stand tall
But crumples in the wind
Nearest thing
You are mine

I drag my fingers across your edges
But there is nothing to grasp
I try to peel apart the layers
But you are paper thin
Nearest thing
You are mine

The floor is not cold under your feet
Nor does it creak
I have given my voice to you
But you do not speak
Nearest thing
You are mine and I am yours

My freedom is brought about in your destruction

My heart yearns for something greater
Something I can believe in
You do not protest nor speak your mind
But I hope that you will stay