Wind blows through

I'd cut myself open just to show you how I feel without any
words,
It's the trees and the clouds and the seasons you see,
Making me so unimportant when the wind blows through,
I can only shiver, turn collar,
Slide underneath it all,
Under the twilight,
Burnt by the street light,
Broken shards of glow,
Extending themselves to my skin,
But feeling nothing, I dispel nothing.

The blue eyes of youth,
When my pupils glinted with ecstasy,
And love of my abstraction,
Now swallow up the milky light to murky waters of grey,
And bare pores taste the air as it hates my skin,
Taunting my impurities and running fingers through my hair,
Formerly the colour of honey,
Now darker,
As behind my eyes the night tries to kill the sunshine,
With its silver-tipped clouds stretching far into a horizon bearing
rain.

And for this pining body and soul and all my misdemeanours,
With infidelities that bare my sanity to all,
Is it a wonder I feel no solace?
Is it any surprise to witness my scars?
All I am has passed away except this haunted body of stone,
And until this body accepts it's fate,
I wait here, and the wind blows through and back again.