Eyes roam the room
Clockspun, mapless
Treasures found in
The things left behind

It is not her fault that you miss her

There are no borders without reason

And the reasons are not one way nor simple.

When she was gone it was like experiencing the worst grief
All over again and it took
So long to settle in that it was over.

Shedding skin, depersonalization
Winter cried it's last breath to a
Window I shut closed.

Times up,you're alone
Again but what's the difference
And so I guess what's the problem

It's nothing new
Bleddry-empty
No more hate left
Alone and stranded

(I was

Now I am

So far passed

That stage I start

To find it funny)

Today is the horizon tomorrow and whatever before is all illusionary.

No gun in my hand no knife in my hand no food in my hand no money in my hand no ***** no **** no smoke no blow

Two cats on each shoulder one angel one devil but they both switch roles too frequently to catch up it's all good though

It's me who's decision maker in the end
And it's never been any different
I live with my regrets nightly til I learn
From them I just hope you're the same
But I'm done thinking we're the same
It was truly a waste of time
We've never been calibrated.

Catch me in the next life I'll hold the door open for you.

The return of the poet
was enough to make everyone ecstatic

thoe it meant lots of people would know it
that the poet had constructed

new ways in which to play it,
the words that were now corrupted.

the poet had returned but with a concerned mind.
they were no longer a poet.

For we all describe the same world
    In many different languages
      But we all have the same idea
        Of what this corrupted world thought us

What if
we were all once made
to shine
like the stars
in the sky?

What if
we were meant
to be beautiful?

What if
we were light?

But then
we got
corrupted.

What if?

Three corrupted men
Lurking through the night
They feel safe because they think they have their right
Groped a minor and said it'll be alright

Covered some stains
Just to hide their nasty remain
Tried make a public apology to their crime
Yet the minor they groped they paid and promised to be a mime

Defended by their colleague
What a shame ester and joe,
Known to be a famous comedian
Yet they made Deliah's story a joke

Until now they're convicted
We all know that uncle changed the system
Even though the true story were written
And there it goes people didn't believe to the victim

The minor got traumatized
Her brain and body got paralyzed
She were gone wrong and despised
And decided after 4 years of trauma she planned to suicide.

there's someone
inside of me
that is good

but i wouldn't
know them
if they looked
me in the
eyes
and told me
i was
human

"It's not love."

Okay, sure,
so suppose I were to concede.
Then you're positing that
more than half the love I've ever received
has always and forever been null.