Rain cant wash a twisted soul clean.
Miles still leave me nowhere bound.
In words I found a home now vacant in thought.

Even the best slip to the worst places over time.

Days are becoming a blur as nights waste my thoughts.
Speaking of things that are beyond a goal
in a long winded , lossers scrapbook of bitter end's.

Will they notice what I will never understand.
Ernest saw  it first your sea was becoming yet a
shallow pond of misery.

And that same old thought eats away the mind like
a cancer.

Caught in the fade do the lights burn brightest?
Or will drunks just pour thoughts like whiskey
into the glass.

Im there now.
Dying in dreams only to exist
in past stories of new chances.

The what if's are ******* kids.
No matter the road you choose.
Never regret a second.