Look at me; there isn't much of me
I'm cold as the wind, like a carving around a post
like the sand being washed over by rolling waves
my hair enters the fray like a bat fluttering back
to its tree to sleep in, I live giving out empty assertions
to everyone who asks how I'm doing and these promises
are way too much to think about ringing about
my mind like the carnival by the sea on the beach~
Heart is a little bit less every time I check,
needs sight to behold the gamut of the dusk
and hold the onus-torch of a near-nothing dream
light a bit of the path up a bit, and realize what the sign
says at the fork in the road, "Each of these don't end up
in his arms anymore."