Not found on pages of black and white.
This is an ashen chapter of dusty eyes.
In these thin lines we are grey. Seen so many angels fall from grace.
We watch their pulses fade away.
From this far away station we watch the trains.
A broken record skips in repeat.
Stabbed five times backwards before defeat.
This is a dirge in decay after you have gone away.
In the end they will sing this elegy.
In the distance down the drain.
We lost the tickets to board the train, but these abandoned letters still remain filled with inblots and disdain.
Black out respirator memories sway through out this reddened sea.
Twisting all of the surface patterns.
It hollows, it hollows me.
This is a dirge in decay after you have gone away.
In the end they will sing this elegy.
This is a lament of chalk out lines:
"Underneath the growing leaves beyound the stretch of clouds. You see the rain dissipate asking why and how the flowers in the mourning mist squint their weary eyes. Waking up is not real. Let go to hold the sky. Standing close to the edge, he played russain roulette. In this devastation our eyes are smeared and wet. Reflections scarred on our hearts from this garden torn. In remembrance of these past times gone all we can do is mourn."