Preston

Would you be there if I where to leave? Is your hand the last I touch in this unforgiving life? I was never good at good bye, so this is hello. A wake up from reality, the place where my mind wonders in and out. Your eyes are the anchor that keeps me in place, wanting to move, but paralyzed. If I was to cut the link sunken by tears and blood. Would you see the invisible me? A ghost wondering aimlessly through time and space. Numb towards the spoken words of friends and family. This would be good-bye if the dreams of others came true. All "alone" comforts only thoughts who know its true strength. Its the immortal circle of love and hate, angered by the slightest touch of a blade made to kill kings and queens alike. Jokers are only smart enough to save lives, blank to the world around, forced by parliament to bow at the tiniest sound. Who would hear a sound like that? Faintest to the deaf, but clear to the ones who only pretend. The art of the world is death, painted with blood and hate. The canvas is prepared for thoughts less fortunate, the ones who strive to make it better, for everyone but themselves. No one sees or hears this, no one. Again alone plays into this myth. Can’t you tell it’s just a story made of figments of the imagination, of all who are gone forever? Save me one more time and ill be free from thinking how it ought to be. The words spilling forth the truth only you have known, but cannot say. If it were spoken, I would know, and only me. I can see it in your eyes, the lowered head, the hair half covering your face. You say sometimes its true. when half of your prayers are insincere, the other half are lies. At this time the tears are flowing from the close calls endured while the fire burns. Because you only get so many second chances is why I am here to put it out. For this would be a sad world if I were not waiting for the answers of the ones who know them, but are greedy enough to keep them hidden from view of the blind, so far from reach. The following drive home he woke up from the dark. Half knowing of what he was and to find out only that it was the lesser of the two he has found in her. Hate. Hate for herself and everyone that wants to get close. Awaiting the day she realized that there was room for him, the dreamer. Am I loud and clear or am I breaking up? The attention span of humans in America is less then pie times the square of 13. Which is pretty small I believe. But what do I know? Obviously nothing if I am writing this in code for all to hear but not decipher. Using the stars from the kaleidoscope, ever changing as the mind does when its had to much. I want you to know that I miss you so. My train of thought has been lost because of the music. Good night.