Dreams collapse like buildings and wishes are falsified.
The swelling of the heart is followed by the deflation.
We stand on hills made of mortar fire.
Fear not, our feet have yet to burn.
Oceans tear things apart like bits of paper.
Trees are hollow, rotting from the inside
And white as bone on the outside.
Funny how bones are associated with death
Yonder, window light pouring in
Artificial and yet so cunning.
Why must the sun lie?
I felt the warmth of summer once.
A glimpse of hope in this hothouse of ramble.
You brought all of this here and left me
Alone, along side the rocks and pebbles and useless sand
For blindness seems to be the only way to live.
I put ten thousand words down and you put fourti.
Hardly seems a fair trade in place where the execution is
The one thing that matters anymore.
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