Ending Things For A Beggining.

Right before the sky misses the sun, you know right before the street lights come on.
I ease my eyes toward the sky and I know people are watching me, but the moon is the only one that smiles about it.
I'm not expected to see people who I once knew, only to look at the things that have the least attention.
The pavement couldn't ever be so cold, it's not one for metaphors.
I am not an angel that is hanged on the wall by a picture frame. I'm not that unique to be in a mesueam.
This genuine talk won't bring anyone together, just rip each other apart.
You've got everyone watching me now, every step is a new advancement in critiqued.
I think that I'm going no where, but as I watch the sky and the clouds, I'd follow them to the ends of the earth if I could.
Realize that this world has lost the definition of beauty, but you've always kept it down to each syllable.
I remain speechless, and I continue to write about it, without thought, and without meaning.
Was it alright to say that I didn't want to stand up all day? I've been wondering where I end up doing that.
I can't end something that I finish, maybe it wasn't even good from the start.