You see me as someone who has their plans laid and engine roaring. I'm sorry I'm not what you thought. My emotions are off the rails because the tracks have been torn apart piece by piece by those who didn't know the train was coming. I tried to use my passion as light to warn them or win them over, one. But they turned away, leaving their picks in my heart and their axes at my feet. My tears as they leave are not like oil, they don't make things better. The salt is bitter and the water leaves me drained. I'm simply human--fragile and breaking and I'm sorry I'm not who you thought. My heart is slowing. Color slips behind closing lids, the stars blinking as darkness comes. Adulthood they called it. You thought I could beat it, but I'm not so sure as the motions of everyday treks lure the passion to sleep.