Holding Out

If you knew the future,
would you live the same?

I have seen glimpses of what is to come

all fire, intimate hands,
unsent messages

I am hiding under the bed waiting for the past
to sleep
hoping letters of love finish smoldering
trying not to smother
there is never any knowing
if the aching will subside
be subdued
time is not a magic wand of healing
no matter how many coins
are thrown into the youth fountain
the spark will always show in silver
there is no deciding in which road
the heart will travel
even if the road is colored with familiar
sometimes there is no such thing as forgetting
that face will become a ghost of haunting
dreams are made of betrayal
and sometimes so is your own body
bones reform into questions marks
will not show conformity
the bottom of the bottle
still does not hold the answers
yet it will continue to be a siren
open veins will lead to the redding
and inside your own encasing
is still where you are the safest
it is truth that some things never change
though the outside will be reborn
over and over
with no understanding of why
inside is more frozen
and those hands will be hot enough
to burn