It

Strands of wind go over a city,
Blowing out tender light in the sky.
Through the streets, down the road to the center,
It comes dressed in a decayed facade.
A murmuration of starlings keeps changing,
Notwithstanding the wall clouds around.
With no omen outside of the collapsing mansion,
In the dark, it is cornered yet smiled.

Forming a shape in the air, on the windows,
Drumming as if it wants to break in.
And it murmurs sweet words you won't listen,
Since you've locked yourself deep and within.
Shallow eyes are alive, out for answers;
Nails break tissues, revealing the red.
For a decade, a line hasn't been crossed
But it walked over soon when the warning was made.

Now it wears the nice clothes, and it fakes it so well,
Keeping in what is broken, wallowing with no shame.
And the world doesn't notice, the sky is now clear.
You are staying in the corner, so fragile and thin.
It came up with all answers; didn't want to break in.
It is wearing a suit you sewed to fit in.
It might not look so pretty; alas people do not care.
They don't tell empty words from the hell that is there.

It speaks loudly, as sane, without a shadow of doubt.
And the voice that was sweet now has familiar sounds.
Birds are gone with the wind, there is one to blame.
You did not let it in yet allowed it to stay
And replace what was live with what had to be gone.
It is rotten inside; now your mouth's rotting, cold.
Your hands opt for a battle but are biding and glued.
It is seen by too many; you, forgotten and screwed.

Picking rags from the floor, you come out of the room.
All of a sudden it is you covering light in the blue.
And you don't realize just how long it has been.
You've been searching for an exit you've robbed yourself of. Still,
You beat on the windows, again and again,
You are hoping to wake what is already dead.
Wasting wishes for a dream to end up somewhere else.
Coming back into clothes that just fit it too well.