we all come to avenues
ones so filled with thorn bushes
like a sea of future scars and pain
and we must traverse each one

no matter what is chosen, that will be the song

the melody that plays as a harp across the fragile chest of the fog

each crow a lone choir

trying to save your soul

every tree a pillar of sense, that you look with an apathetic gaze

these avenues are presented clearly, and yet they are hazy

like a gamble you didn’t make, you are left with the sins of an invisible fate

that has casted you with no fault of yourself, the walk of a lonely element

that will whiter away by the heavy rain, and the long winters

but forward is all you can go, so that is the way

it is a raw deal, a ****** kind of tragic play with no sort of brevity

just those avenues