Ignorantly, I claim this is why I do not allow myself L'air du Paradis.
I've lived with//Vicariously numb fingertips//I have sat//In surrogate silence//This life is mine to save//Leaving cut roses on your grave
I have never been one to revisit or edit anything I write... but I realized that can be as counter-productive as editing too much, and I know there is a fine line in there somewhere. This is the beginning of a journey I'm hoping to take regularly not only to improve my writing, but to inspire myself into potentially writing something completely brand new that is more polished and well-thought-out from the very start, and thus improve my writing overall. This poem was initially written to be turned into a song, and as such, is simple for the sake of rhyme and meter. I tried to maintain that stylistically, to a degree, though I was fighting myself to make it more eloquent yet unwieldy for use as lyrics. I may revisit it again someday and simply make it the best poem it can be. My hope is for this interpretation to clarify some of the meaning intended.