withered

I heard a voice somewhat pale  
I saw fingerprints that were somewhat gray    
wrapped up for the night...  
you were at the altar sacrificing me
to make it right.  
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I see your life is adopting superstitious tales  
memories wrapping a bouquet of frowns  
gravity is by the bedpost, distracting the drama  
to say it’s alright.  
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I walked a harsh path in your head, and it diminished  
as I came to walk you home from the rain.
yet you stood there on the corner, waiting  
standing still for the messenger of the time
hoping answers will lay somewhere  
in the passing by a soft current of the drifting winds.  
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as you lay a grip on me,
in a candle-lit state of mind,
a sad reception,
while I'm watching you,
getting caught in the moment,  
I observe what you don’t,  
I see that you don't know me  
next to you withered.