68

The future has seen better days. Always, closed
doors. Open old sores. Makeshift Holy Ghost,
but I need more.
It's fair enough to say that I am never walking
back. Never going out. Never shaking hands
with lifelessness. But I walk alone with you by
my side. You've given me a thousand tries.
Headlines. Half truths. Half life and it's half
used. Golden hearts, silver tongues, slant
rhymes and I might be the only one left. I found
you in the fire but you claimed that it kept you warm. My whole thought process is nothing more than what I
say. I never understand the synchronization of a
water down revolution. The death of a son. The
death of a salesmen, the anointed one. So what
is there left to say? Everyone's given up but I was
born on a different day and I drink from a different
cup.