These eyes of mine,
They hold nothing now.
Cold, and empty,
They draw in the harsh wind.
The warmth I felt inside,
Has left me by myself�
Alone to fight the jagged fist
That relentlessly strikes against me.
These eyes of mine,
They hold fire no more,
More and more like an abyss:
Cold and empty.
They draw in the harsh wind.

I am...
An enigma.
A mystery to myself.
I don�t know what I am,
Who I am,
Or could be.
Unsure of where my path leads,
I wander and roam on.
But every day,
I put on a smirk, 
And I trudge through,
Only seemingly �ok.�
Inward pit,
To outward solace,
Undefined and oft unseen.
With hidden silence,
And happy laughter,
Me before, now, and always after.
A mystery to myself,
I�m me.
An enigma.
Undefined, and oft unseen.

I have seen the skies like none other before me.
I have soared above them, higher than the proudest eagle.

I have felt the earth in my fingers, rich and full of life.
I have slept six feet deep in it, undisturbed and peaceful.

I have witnessed the might of the oceans, ancient and strong.
I have been humbled by their serenity.

I have felt the ferocity of wildfire more infuriated than a scorned heart.
I have been warmed by its touch, igniting the fire inside of me.

And I have fallen.

And I have been engulfed.

And I have drowned.

And I have been burned.

Because of these lies and these truths that I speak,
These words which flow through my fingertips.
I have seen it all�
And I have been blind all along�

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