Maybe It's Too Late, chains loosen and your grip tightens, the children are frightened, meshed brains and broken hearts stand on broken floorboards tangled in wires; which operate their lives as they're spared from the damage inside their brains, nostalgia sprains the future findings of blood stains on carpets that are hidden deep like veins.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
Maybe It's Too Late, chains loosen and your grip tightens, the children are frightened, meshed brains and broken hearts stand on broken floorboards tangled in wires; which operate their lives as they're spared from the damage inside their brains, nostalgia sprains the future findings of blood stains on carpets that are hidden deep like veins.
Request permission to use this poem