—
Did you give something to me, or did I steal in cold blood?
What are the odds that it might strike me?
You sacrifice flight but the sky comes along.
When an angel cries, I do not cry. I love your tears too much to watch them dry.
Is the dark a reason to run or explore?
My once great stride, has now become a crawl, leaving the light of the world, for four haunting walls
I’m wasted on poor company.
Seven in the evening, black coffee in my cup, it’s 9am somewhere, I’m just now waking up.
The only proof that I have lived at all.