Breathe brought in, with it sickness
Cause enough, it can all crumble
two pieces, more, four exponential
Onto the ruined floor of morrows
There they get ground down finer
by the ones that through words like love around
So very, very off are the scenes
Of a life, of first tries, of smoking puddles
Far off now is that guy, that person,
just but now only a reminder of poor choices
And it can and will crumble
cracking and falling away, into voids
much like the need, and want of breathing
sitting so close to the smoke that rises
each breath feeding and igniting
Foolish are the eyes that believe and abuse
salty water, vinegar for the wine we waste
when all of life crumbles around you
and you find the endless, unlit labrynth
fed by bridges burnt down just after your crossing
until no exit, No route, No saviors are found
the sickness comes in shards that turn to puddles
and this then burns to smoke, and ruins