Some days I laugh at how childishly funny it was for me to write countless hours about you,
Some days  seem to be filled with passion and troublesome that it was worth it,

It's oneself to say, that you were something I still think about more then ever but some days,
They seem to fade about into a blank piece of harmonic poetry to me,

Because of you,
My words of words have been announced as stupidity,
My true annoyances have been tempered with,
My exposed self have been interrupted with an mass of air,

Why,Oh,Why,

Have you made me a fool of a beast which freezes a thousand acres of grief,

The agony and atrocious hits of sensation,

I kid my shoulders as if a million daggers of betrayal have murdered me,

I am a lone wolf that stand silently in below 0 isolation under near a rough plait surface of sand,

Waiting and waiting for a pray or an other lone wolf to appear,

There are two paths and one way out of the bonded enclosure ,

These, Oh, These ,

Pretext of justification,

But I see myself coming back over and over again.