As I sit and sip another cup,
mourning over the loss of pure childish innocence
the lack of brightness behind these closed and boarded up windows.
it bothers me.
howyers changed the lines that trace through my hands.
they reach the boneless soul of my existence, theypour
all that is needed, but never quite as much as I want.
like a hole that void.
nameless whispers that talk and seep into my dreams.
they tell me of stories yet untold.
they are of darker nature than I would be able to swallow.
It's all biscuits and coffee this life.
you might want some tea once in a while.
some mind to juggle up your breath.
but that's all the space I was ever given.
Adapting is changing yourself.
I feel conflicted.
But this glitch in my coffee.