Picking locks

14.6.2009

Leave me at the door,
I have yet to find my keys,
I always lose them, unintentionally.

I wanted to wait for the morning,
for it's brighter and clearer then,
but daylight scares me badly,
I, a scenery in a lion's den.

Bad with picking but it's worth the try,
pull on heart strings, someone dies.
I fear it's a fear more than fear itself,
my fear is this fear that I fear myself.
"Damn lock. Why won't you just open already?"

So the night has eventually decided to sell itself.
Like those stars,
I've once hopefully placed on this wooden shelf,
disappointment first,
bar and jugs, later.

Where once, I cried. Where twice, I slept. Where thrice, I fought.
Go away, seasons.
Please go away.

Now who found my keys again?
I think you might have just found me.
Unintentionally,
I believe, quite unintentionally.