Contraption

Luring Insanity To Angels...

The body is again my contraption.
Dizziness and sickness and sadeness.
Someone else's nostrils ache.
Another one's back hurts.
Nobody else's head freezes.

I hate the prison of this flesh.

What if I want to evaporate?
Will someone breathe me in?
Will I become a storm?
Will someday I be water again?

What if I want to turn to mud?
Will the soil embrace me?
Will I be clay?
Will I be dry then dirt?

What if I want to stay Water?
Will the moonshine hit me again?
Will the mirrorings dwell?
Will I soak again someday?

Why did nobody stood the fight for a place to dwell on my chest?
Did Icarus really died?
Were his wings rotten before indeed?
Why those who desire to fly fall so hard?

Because we want to.
Because we're afraid to reach.
Because we're not awake.

What if I want to stop being flesh?
Ain't I worthy for that Desire?