Still Before Truth

Yawning like the sunless sky
underneath the guise of dawn.
These nights flee into the grave
where all we can do is recall them.

Your fingertips are warm like wax
that gently slides down the burning candle.
Maybe we’re all figured out before conception,
but it’s hard to imagine the world that way.

Each day fades into a purple eve.
No matter where I decide to stand
I always see the face in the sky
which seems to watch me intently.

I’m no worse off than anyone else.
I can at least survive without vice.
You are what makes me higher than the stars.
I’ve got to get out of this place.

Knocking on the wispy door where the truth
keeps itself as a single solitary bullet.
When the door swings my mouth is agape.
Maybe we all see these things coming, and

we choose not to move.