As I dig I lack results.
Yet I dig deeper on the cloud.
I ask myself, "Whose fault?"
The one who isn't proud.
Why can't I see it's me;
Opening the door to nothing?
Allowing the splinters be set free
As they start to sing
Of deceitful truth,
Of passion and care.
I go into the booth, Not a confession to spare.
Open eyes are more blind.
Closed eyes are not forced
To gaze upon false minds
or on pain; the source.