You could call it a chronicle

Do you listen when I talk to myself?
Understand that I'm not thinking like you.
Dissatisfied with all the words I try to say.
Thought I'd know, after all this time, just what lives within the confines.

Can you feel this?
Is it just me who's grown utterly detached?

Loely, only a whisper should suffice while I'm looking deep into her eyes.
This time, go numb in her embrace and I realize...

All along, I was alone.
From the first day, I should have known that they could see us too, but they never wanted you.
And I cried, each time they'd play the song, "We've been haunted for so long!"
A smile returned that read, "We'll always remember."

Clever use of a dead phrase caught me fighting walls of these confines so desperately.
Abandon it; respective love has washed away.
Still, I sit, after all this time, clinging to what remains of mine.

Don't look, it's them!
Unseen, trust me.
They've come to take you away.

Not a song could compare to the clouds.
A beauty, there is no storm quite like ours.
Come, now, let the gale take us away, and into the dark...

Every night, another show.
Would it kill to let me know just how the stars appear?
And have they ever landed here?
This time real words ring in my ears, "these are only yours to hear.
We know where she is, we'll take you there..."

Into the forest, where darkness is cut by creatures' eyes -
only shadows play among the decrepit branches.
Eight spirits wander near the ashes where she lies,
concealed under the veil of blackened skys.

Do you remember feeling visible?
We were always oh so feasible.
But what amounts to less than more of you goes hand in hand with them adoring you.
It won't be long before we lose control, but what we keep we'll deem 'picturesque.'

-Sidereal Drift