Agnostic
wandering temples,
wondering how the stone still stands—
cracked and worn,
weathered by storms,
by wars,
by careless hands that pass through.
It’s like a labyrinth you can’t
exist in—
feel the hedges,
understand the spirits,
quiet the noises,
balance the highs and lows.
The soul—what is it?
A natural remedy is still just a remedy.
A waste of time.
We both know it—
it’s not meant to be.
Pragmatic
never believed in happily ever after;
you did the math—
and it ends with a soft sound,
the closing of the temple door,
a coin flip
We hit the ground.
If I had a nickel for every
“Meeting you was destiny,”
oh, but was it?
If I had a nickel for every
“You deserve to be happy,”
oh, but do I?
We’re two sides of the same coin,
a dream, a folktale,
a close call.
We both know it—
it’s not meant to be
We hit the ground.
Skeptic
All the sharp turns,
all the downhill spirals,
all the A.M. conversations—
you tell me,
"We'll get through it"
You held me with your voice,
But the edge cuts
Oh, the way you swore
“We’ll get it right this time.”
I’d rather
mix ***** with water,
enough to turn my blood to wine—
Let's just not debate our religion
in temples.
There is no solance
When we're agnostic, pragmatic, skeptics
We both know it—
just another close call,
wasn’t meant to be.
I only wanted to know your love,
not wander through temples.
