These days tick by
In dawning arrogance.
I watch our race
Waste slowly down the drain.

Our sun creeps ahead
Peeking through cracked atmospheres,
To shrivel up already fading hearts.

As the day whispers by
The setting of sun will come
To bring upon
A yawning, drawn on night.

The night is when
The weak come out
To feast upon
The wealthy and the poor.

The night is when we rest again
As these days tick by
In dawning arrogance.

My friend had a knife
She didn't use it right
Knives are for cutting food
She used it for her mood
Knives are to open Mail
She used it to wail
Knives aren't  meant
On the skin
The beautiful skin on each of us
My friend HAD a knife
She didn't use it right