Everything that measures clear, all together only fits to be a blur. Between head or heart? I’m wary it’s growing distant just to reason anymore. Why am I still trapped over opening and closing the same chapter? A deeper look through the contents, judging my actions, and like any other truth that surface, it emerges wide open an ugly view. Translates no more except the death of a face...
The hands of a clock, strikes perished moments across. Time in consuming thoughts.. tragedy of youth forever lost.