In between the lines
You could tell

Shakespeare danced
Religiously

Way back when

First time He
Was happy was
Probably when he
Was dead

Like the
Pilgrims or
Like those
Ocean storms

Old grave sites
Inside me

Old grave stones
Are
A' Floating

And the creak of the
Street with its
Wheezes and its
Moans

Makes me breathe
Deep inside

Takes me faster
Than it grows

As of late
A bed seems
Useless

And
People continue to
Act useful yet desperately
Cracked

Tables are
Crumbling and
The hearts have
Gone weak

Shadows are
Spreading and
My hands have
Grown bleak

Friends are now
Foreign while
Religion still
Weeps

Gods got
Glasses and
He smiles while
Laughing

Feigning:
Paranoia
Heart Break
Misery
Melancholia
Desperation
Writer's Block
Nothingness within
Nothingness
Trusting
No one
Not even
Yourself

Alone in the
Dark and you
See
Everyone's
Been there
All along

Together yet

Miles and miles

Apart