My emotions travel like the waves,
rising and crashing all throughout the days.
Some times the sickle moon illuminates my heart
other days I wish nothing more than to be apart;
apart from life, apart from sorrows,
hanging by a hopeful thread on enough tomorrows.
My spirit knows its dirty truth
this soul I stole from a dying sleuth
with track mark scars from warmth contained
in the one numb comfort of a troubled brain.
Those carbon copied replicas hardly know they exist
while I’m still morning over the moments I’ve missed.
Down trodden distortion makes a pretty reflection
as I wait to get taken to the next better section.
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