By Arcassin Burnham
Too late to call,
Deliberately passionate about how you've been doing,
Crossing fingers in hopes that you don't see someone else and give all of your fruit and your veggies to them,
Putting yourself on the line for them,
Waste all your time with them,
Make me jealous in utter Requiem.
Stone cold blind men could see you from miles away admiring all that you are in a world where some will degrade,
Fight the sun if you gone from the shade,
The Sweat and the pain to be thrown to the wolves and sheeple eludes to the people that don't give a care about what is actually really important to see and look forward to, this corrupted world got a hold of you,
But I still love you,
Hot like the summer,
Wait am I degrading a little? the situation is belittled, playing fiddle.