Missing the Magic

a smile leaves an imprint...
an hour has its price...

Missing the magic,
When every day was a dream.
I used to be youthful,
When my thoughts didn't bleed.
Now my floating's lost fixation,
And every single

carpet blanket pillow bed,
ceiling skyline sunlight skin,
hateful head and purple pen,
hurts instead and pulls me then
from where I was, and who I am,
and how I used to live...

I can't remember
Staring up at the light,
And pointing, pronouncing,
Calling it "lie"

but I can remember
staring up in the dark
and begging renewal,
asking for life...

I never learned how to live here,
So elsewhere I escaped;
Down in the dreamworld,
Or up in the air

where they dragged me away,
ripped me awake,
choked me in chains,
and told me a name...

But the name was not my own,
I always felt unknown,
Like something inhuman,
Some ghastly ghost,
And that need, that notion
Of feeling emotion,
Pushed me so far
That I had to embark,
And there at the start,
I could only

retreat and recapture
a piece of a particle,
some shred of a shrunken
sliver of light;
but one day I wandered
from my shell to the shoals,
searching for self in the sand;
and there's a shadow
down the shoreline
who restored the hope I lost...

I've been missing the magic,
And maybe I've found it,

here in the real world,
the last place I'd expect.