Idle hands do nothing more than hold applause hostage,
it’s just the mirror doing its job by making monsters.

Be smart - aspire, tread lightly when your regrets beck and call,
I’ll be the first to admit that sometimes....there’s no glory before the fall.

You can risk and rack your life to rot,
it’s more a matter of what you’ve lost than what you’ve forgot.

Empty love is what makes matters worse,
a charming smile, flippant demeanor are considered a curse.

I light the lures and reminisce in hopes of remembering the pure,

My discretion is the only thing that signifies my perception.

I’ve witnessed my fair share of waste, memories triggered by that terrible taste.

It was a miracle that moved me, once.

It’s unfair to you. I know this now. It was unfair to you to hope that you made my life matter.

You filed a grievance, there in my leave of absence.

and just like the seconds hand, the horror story played on and on repeat.
It’s never too late, until it is, to retreat, wounds to treat, and admitting defeat.

I picked my poison in you - an earful of harm with a heart that’s armed.
Teach me ways to blindly see, twist and turn the way it used to be,

Rise,army, rise. Trample through truth and extinguish lies.

I loved you in front of a thousand burning suns,
even after repetition and falsehoods burn away, we are the ones.