Whenever I look at the sky,
I used to smile.
I used to lay in the grass,
and stare for a while.

But with all this pain,
and all this hatred.
I often think about how,
I feel dead.

I used to dance in the clouds,
and laugh all the time.
Now I just sit and think to myself,
only being able to rhyme.

I think of the future and the past,
and everything in between.
Of all the things I want,
most is my slate to be clean.

I sit and think about demons,
not bothering about angels.
I flip my coin and throw it,
my wish down my well.