I guess you could say that the sky is different or maybe it might be. The word that seems to spill from my mouth, doesn’t come from within. It arises from the hills of my lips that bask in vanity. If you could just pause and take your time to understand; then you shall see. How wretched this words that ruins me. How crooked this exaggerated comfort.
In the world that sees me rise, I rise. when the sun rise, I crawl back to my cave that smells of dead promise. It fades within me. I am perhaps condemned. Perhaps, I can do better than yesterday.
Talk to you about the weed that grows in me before it grows. The garden. Oh my garden. If only you could see and if only I could be.
Dear, I wonder if there really is such thing as never too late.
yours and yours