The pages that I rightfully write, are to right a wrong
They are an attempt to sing a new song, a new melody
To try and shift a paradigm of my confused insanity


IT'S JUST "NOTHING MAKES SENSE" ANYMORE


Tear stains on my cheeks that you have to answer for
In sorrow for today and tomorrow and honestly for months to come
The thought of your little finger wrapped around my thumb
As our hands happily danced together, for what was supposed to be forever interlocked as we walked
But maybe "nothing" is exactly what needs to make sense
Being satisfied with nothing, is how to receive everything