Vacivity feels abstract, yet maims nether ends Burgeoning to habitual like repeated ****** Overcoming this notion of occurring widdiful By consummation within myself Nulling unfurling wounds Garbed in a crimson lagoon
The man sleeping in the diner’s back booth will not care if your mother suffers from plantar diabetic neuropathy or that your children read **** and steal *****.
No, trivial matters will be of no worry to him because he ****** himself while dormant and leaving without others knowing will be of primary concern.
A drip of sadness starts to Seep through the gaps Of our existence and Follow shadows, wraps Around your footsteps and Blinds the eyes we hold. Brining us together in a unity of Fallen tears that blindfold us Humanity, standing forth broken In a dark place that we don’t wish To be, where our spoken words mean Nothing.