I've got my head in the clouds.
Decapitated by their silver lining.
I've got my head in my hands.
Dropped; a glorified torso stands.
Acephalous, and here I am mining.
Digging with a broken shovel.
Chiseling with a pickaxe handle.
Eyesight upside-down, crooked, spinning.
On the ground my vision sees no progress.
Blood sluggishly runs down my face
as I fall into an even darker place.
From one loose stone,
the definition of futile has let itself be known.
You're an impenetrable mountain.
Looking for a beacon,
your heart wedged in the rough.
No promise shown.
I can see enough will never be enough.
You and I.
I want us to be in love.
Rats, spiders, bats filling in the blank,
as this cave becomes more dank.
You should be here,
not my worst fear.
Searching for what once was.
Finding myself in a lost cause.
I thought I was full of optimism.
Turns out I'm just pining.
Quiet goes the birdsong.
My heart's canary dead on its back.
I've been excavating for too long.
Arduous labour for love, your love to be exact.
Relinquished tools. Empty handed.
I endure partially eroded while you remain intact.
Fruitless effort ripened.
All my enthusiasm syphoned.
There is nothing left to extract.
Light goes out.
Mining in the dark.
Bloody fingerprints smear their mark.
Fractured fingers given too much to embark.
And with nowhere else to start,
I'm believing your infatuation for me never had a heart.
The mine begins to shake.
I stop. Sit. Give up.
Loving you is deadening.
With my head in my hands
I don't know where I'm heading.
as I wait for this expected collapse,
I do know,
that anywhere beats mining headless
for a love that never existed in the first place.
Underneath a thousand tonnes of rubble,
with my head in my hands
I am a man that stands.