It was dark, deep and wise
A pond of thoughts poured with pain
A man, who tried to walk out of a landscape of disguise

There was a note
Left unexplained, messy and wrinkled
That desires smile, talk and action

But the pencil is broken
Into a piece of selfishness
Cracked, burned and unwritten

Somehow he knocked
Somehow there's answer
Somehow there's none

It was filthy, beautiful or even cruel
Lost in a snap of fingers
In between imagination and existence