Ghost sitting on my window sill beckons me to join in the kill.
Cryptic words are like suicide speak the truth if you’re really alive.
I’ve been hit
It’s a gamble when you spring the trap three steps to freedom and you’re running back.
Are you ready to be demeaned? Are you ready to be attacked?
I’ve been hit
Coming down to the borderline I saw myself in the mirror of his eyes and I looked tired from driving up to the pass. And drugged by the future in fiberglass trains sweeping through cities with unrecognizable names at high speeds, the moment was pregnant but the future was blank and our history was fabricated and we made up new names. We had kneejerk reactions that we labeled “decisions” and some miscalculations that we labeled our “passions.” We had moments of clarity we soon had forgotten and in moments of insanity we allowed in all that was rotten.