Bathe in this pit of crystal tears.
Feel on demand, like sharp glass tacs.
Pouring.. Steaming... Adrenaline forrests.
Phobia pickets the simpleton.
Yet is this such simpleton really the loone?
Fools dance on fire and truth burns the same.
How can one speak as to judge one a string, to another thin theory of loss.
Decompose generations of jokes and flags.
My comrade now worn to the bone.
Blood of the blue.. tainted thirst for the words..
Second guessing is never correct.
Are we all just bored to be born again?
Or will someday the apology breathe?
All artificial in marching stampedes...
Go forth and choose what you see without eyes.
-Anna
