A part of those letters
Are left behind in the red cannon
A few pages of utmost sincerity
Caressing the unknown
A few instances of the unrequited love

A leaf on the ground
Her veins holding on to the clot
Blood dripping from her soul
Mice infecting the city with the plague
Thoughts destructing her mind recklessly

Two hundred dollars
The ******* looks at his face in disgust
Is the hatred unconsciously precarious on his doings
The past mocking at his present
She's grave and he's cruel

The wind tonight will not blow
Lights have been told to turn the people blind
They will all purport to be satiated
And within themselves
Die with the top notch blades cutting them straight.