8

above knee deep,
force a grin.
poison looks and smoky tin,
dirty books and smell of sin;

it's better this way.
for now, anyway...

placid

i fear what was conspired has come true.
the only thing that mattered was you.
I forgot about me.
What I could be.
solitary confines, self consgined.

bad trip

real

we're not really what people make us to be.
make it reality.