a string of heartless melodies stretch into the sky
we look for our will up there when we've lost it
yet seldom do find it.
and then we lose everything we have left.
we look to a sad line to fill the void,
and then to an abandoned house
to leave us alone and divert our last
thoughts to oblivion.
thoughts we'd never divulge.
thoughts we've never harbored (and, in truth, never will again.)
thoughts as good as gone (but very much alive.)
thoughts (nonetheless.)
and as a blade runs through a soul (already dying,)
once pure and fresh skin
turns black
charred and tired.
