a tornado; an owl
take what you’ve got, take comfort, in that everything you know, or seen will soon be a non existent dot.
who’ll save the world that claims there is no saving? an illusion or delusion of grandeur. half of what i
say is bliss, the other half is meaningless. comfortable lines. wating for the clock to heal us. lost and
found, but neer touched. another beating heart is lost: interesting lies. waiting for the clock to heal us.
alone in our rooms, miserable, a tornado or an owl, come back and isolate the balance. nothing is
real; your heart on your sleeve, just another lie, transcend the pride, oh the chemicals. take your time,
nothingness is something and something is nothing.