I hear them come quick
in short little fits.
Tainted bursts lifted out of lungs thick with poison.

Deal with this.
"Yo, pass that ****."
Glide through mists of green grass, red brick, and grey stone.

This is not my backyard.

"Please stay with me so I'm not all alone."
Pale fingers on a quest to make contact with skin.
"I'm so overwhelmed, I don't know where to begin."
I'm never going back home again.
It doesn't even exist.

She says there's a system.
God made all the rules and set it in motion,
then calmly walked away
to leave us to our own devices (enterprises, surprises, demises)
Come what may.

"There's a philosopher who said that some people spend too much time playing with the meaning of objects in their heads. It can get to a point where nothing makes any sense, and they go crazy. Some of these people find a way to describe it, and they're known as poets."

The moon knows better than anyone,
with her sly smile reflected off the lake,
and all that light stolen from the sun.

"Do you know what I wish?"
No, and please, don't finish.
We are far from being done.
Let's not end it before we've begun.

This is my backyard.

If I'm just a zero,
then you are the one.