I’ve been a slave to my demons; unwilling victim of two-faced humans. Then again, the angels were never my friends; just a means to an end.
You were a time, the only one I called mine; reminded me of a time, filled with roses and rhymes; held me at a time, through fantasy’s lines. You were a time, my broken spine; reminded me of a time, a bloodshot of pine; held me at a time, I didn’t call mine.
Forth onto Froth = Stay low, soft knees. For pain, you’ll see. Chin up, young one. For death, there’s none.
Fractured = I rinse my hands off this bloodied soap. In hopes, that it’ll rid me of our sinking boat. No more ropes, to a once promised oath.
Inheritance = No. It has never been for us to row. No. It isn’t ours to take the blow. No. It’s only right to voice what we know. No.