pit of the stomach - am i lying to myself?
if i keep on what i've been doing - down in the dumps i'll be.
so what better way is there but to continue to lie - rather than make with this melancholy reality.
this mystic bliss lasted but minutes,
hands raised in the air reaching for what i thought was something - though tricked with only the invisible.
breathless breaths of the dillusional, awake as the horizon breaks forth the sky so dark.
carry not the drips of what this letter holds - wet and salty are they, straight from the eyes.
skin cold, hairs raised by the sound of thy voice - butterfly in the stomach hymns.
petals fallen from what thee gave, time has really past with every grain and granules
turning into mud as the raindrops fall above the  grass so crisp and 
dismal is that sunset that promises not yet forth.
shall we cross that bridge again - some time when the sun has risen again and again and henceforth?
clutching onto my coat so warm and comforting, holding down this draft underneath my long skirt
wanting so badly to rip these clothings and dive from the medium of this bridge into the rushing blue waters
that soon enters the calm clear lake.
spoke of such promise, lyrics like that of this song i sang once. 
pillows sufficating my face buried in so deep, waiting for this henceforth to end - so that i may find this again
splenderous moonlight, guide me through this walkway of vines and roses intwined, thorns outlining each step.
lead me and i'll be fine

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