These words written,
have bitten,
and leaving the scars of ***** ink,an untied as yet link
make me think
of
tomorrow, and when will it come?
will the Sun ever rise?
is the promise that's shown in your eyes,more lies
more bites
more lonely writes?

I'm flying my kite in the breeze and thoughts like these I don't need,so I'll write them away,like an act 1 in a play where's there's so much more to say and I,
being the audience will stay 'til the end
until the curtain comes down.

A king and his throne,nowhere to call home and this sceptre I hold is a cold, cold pen,
tomorrow will come
but when?