Turquoise in a set of four,
a catch halfway closing the door.
They have seen this life lived,
the aftermath of lies wish were never told,
and the life desperately seeked that was long ago sold
to the demons unwillingly kept in minds streets.
They don't want anymore.

New faces, new places and
new things.
No paint could cover the grudges formed with words made of sickly thorns.
They haunt 'ever presently should go,
the three ghosts that each hold
stories in the turquoise that used to be known.

Fading in and out of reality,
past has already passed the best of infinite.
Sunken to new low,
drowning in this currents flow.
Self hate, self medicate to
make the inevitable come slow.