Autumn Theory A Short Study Of Schizophrenia
this is the face only lead paint could give.cold stares
behind closed doors. so bitter to
betray than pose the vapor that leads the
rest of us astray. convicted to roots in warm
glasses and crystal myths. fatherless ghost nods in
the shadows. telling a tale of vacant lots and
vacant minds. the tired sob story. told to inspire
to expire. you had three chances and failed when it
counted most. but never stopped trying. never a
monument to excess. from the motion that keeps the
bricks loose to a stir of echoes of faded walls and
the tracks that lead to nowhere. you can never go
home again. the weeds saw to that. regardless of
phantoms from where the trees grow tall the sun was
set at your back. a fresh oppurtunity. and failed
when it counted most.
but maybe not.
