A poems to Brittanee

Left to explore this world once again is a sweetest dream coming true. blead through is the devils eye capturing another lost fate, and who to owe this pleasure is a standered little laid in the wake of a tidle wave crashing through a baron land cleansing the sin, yet we're all sick and diseased with a memory worth losing but never lost. We are the ones left in a land we don't deserve, juicing up all we can use but choose not to. And as we hang from our ropes we die with the great ones, the little ones, and the ones with nothing to regret. The sad thing is, it's not us .......