The rain on my painted silloette
hurts to collect the shattered pieces,
of the me before time, landed
hooked into gasping for a mouth to feed
from neverending agony too
relinquishing the only string of cranes
that still controls puppet-me.
When tweedle-dee-dum strike a match
towards a pteradactyl sky
Paining on my sintillating skin
only reaches the ends of my fingertips
to dance enlightened towards a static
point of question within and/or among
myself.
Duel a dual of stated segments
63 little boxes of each one can't find the smell of sorrow
When the Ra-God forms a beauty and sees how much it pretends
my burning rose to feeling
maybe tulips can't be bleeding
but they hurt my crying veins
leeking solitude as it rains
into solid devil's rack
As a tack becomes what needent be
explained away.
As it seemed quite fitting at the moment of incursion, a single most intriguing particular shone in the sun like an uncut cypher stone.
Reminding the future of what kant be summerized, and what moore people have decided upon than is healthy.
Only to forget more than any dreams could teach,
Do we remember how to fly? or forget when we wake.