It's impossible to see
Past what we bleed
But if the past passed passively
We wouldn't even scar.
All dreams for us are rationalized
It's sickening how things don't work out
It's sickening how things don't.
Riding in on a black steed
The wind melted my face
And oh so beautiful.
Oasis of a deadly scene
And here I lay in grotesque clouds
A daunted child filled
With challenged thoughts.
And one death wish too many.