Fear.

When it comes down to it I think we're all afraid of the idea of fear and what it will pertain to. 

I want you to make me feel alive, but it seems you're already dead. 

Same

I feel uninspired,

Feelings hard and retired.

Having many opportunities to become great, but instead I came out molded and shaped like everyone else. 

With the same corners, edges, and color, what's unique about the life of a brick?

I don't know if it's good or bad that I can't relate to who I used to be. 

Blue eyes have always been my thing, but you make brown eyes beautiful. 

The Pinecone

Your eyes are clear and blue like a lake.

But your mind is not, and I don't understand it.

It's like finally understanding how to add,

And then the teacher introduces fractions. 

Like a system of equations that was true. 

But now, the point has changed, and suddenly there's, 'no solution'. 

But in one brief moment a pinecone hung from the ceiling between you & I. 

"What's that supposed to be, mistletoe?"

And in that moment I set myself up,

the equation changed and now there's 'infinite solutions'. 

And while your clear eyes remain, mine darken to match my brain. 

Because my feelings are so lost they can't walk in a straight line. 

And a mere pinecone in the forrest has become a memory of your lake.