I swear there is a point to this rambling
If you know what it is than please inform me
I would love to know what happens in your soul
How come you never tell me your stories anymore
Love is a wrong turn made too often
I often write double the amount that i intend to
What is the source of your singing
Where do songs belong in our conversations
What words should we say if our feelings wish to take shape
Why do we make forms from our imaginations
Are the right questions even important
And if so how would we know for certain
Why do i only seek pleasure in your comparison
And underneath this layer of dirt is there a perfect hurting
Why even try at all if so many of our shortcomings are for nothing