A lot, I have written for you,
but these lines would be the last few...

When I see that photograph,
I see a genuine smile...

Coming in through the window,
the darkness illuminates the room...

In that dark alley,
when I called out...

Rising in a vortex of smoke,
leaving behind this ashen heart...

There,
in the heap...

As I walked home,
From a long day at work...

The bright summer glow,
lost again to a hectic haze...

The streets were deserted,
the sun was sucking my soul...

I am a sandstorm,
raging in a bottle...

A single silent violin
shimmering on that breezy night...

It was a blank face,
a symbol of serenity and calm...