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...