If romance is dead, then so is music- Unchained melody, familiar tune. Spare me the notes that I already know; Trade it for something more original. I just now caught the shadow of your smile: It’s playing across the canvas of my ceiling. Memory is the after-taste of sight- Thus, let me be a connoisseur artist. I don’t believe in “Always,” or “Never.” We are too temporary for such words. Promises are only good intentions, Temporary honesty at its best- Or, so They will say, those ominous They- Societal demons in gold cages. See how they watch. See how they point and stare. See how they see me find my own way out.