The left hand with scars,
Similarly, the sun that sets
On an august afternoon.

Turns the buildings orange.
On these days the bags I carry are light,
Maybe something is stuck.

Going home along a path,
You’ve chosen once to go with me.
It catches upon my throat.  
Like the sunset they hide.

Maybe it’s fear of the weak,
But I’ve come to the conclusion that being weak
Makes the greatest leaders.
In a sense they know how it feels
To have the world look down on them.
So walking down that path of shame and light
Is it another day, to crumble?

The hair in your face separates lightly
looking down at your shoes.
The ringing noise
of the background
characters we are
and it seems we enjoy the silence
the wet floors and high light.
Sometimes walking past the same streets
your scent still lingers
it twists and turns making my stomach churn.
Sleepy eyes that look like a falling moons
I wish sometimes to rest in them
Again your image still is not faded
  incompatible with the reality
That you are you and I am.
As I chose my escape over your coven
Where I was merely decoration to your light.

"can you be mine?"
In soft spoken words at the end
of the staircase
her face puffed
her eyes red and awake
they glistened with the emotion
that i didn't want to see
rather looking into her
eyes  i was looking at
myself in her eyes
She teared and cried
her knees weak
fell like i had devestated her
I wasn't in love and she wasn't in luck

I am walking through
pieces of glass they crumble
my brittle ankles feel the tension
of it as i walk through
where I belive is an alley

The sun is high up
the sweat is catching up to me
there is a woman sitting on the
handlebars of the bike,
the man pedals

they scream and yell
and slowly then the pedaling stops
the glass I walk through is silent to the cries of the woman
angry I don't understand how they could argue in such state
when from afar they looked as if
the wind gave them kisses of goodbyes
and the truth is maybe I had known
how it would end
but as always I prefer my ending