Drops from a hand
There's no plan,
No contusions;
A mind in a man.
He wants out.
Fuck illusions.
He wants the fuck out.
He wants answers
Or doubts.
Can't even begin...
Breathes it out,
Thinks it in
Come the chimes in the wind
A distraction:
Win-win.
Elevation or sin
Blah;
Places he's been.
This something is nothing,
Separates at two ends.
One's frightened,
One bends.
Both under the lense.
Both squirm to grasp meanings,
And lighters
And pens.
New lovers; expires,
He tires of trends.
Together and separate,
And never again.
How fucking whatever.
Reliably human.
Fleeting and comfortable.
Five A.M.
