I see the narrow of their lies, sing a soft lullaby in the midst of my long black hair. The Circus plays in my head; as a result, the beauty of the accordion takes toll. I'm at my peak. The feeling of being lucid, is now a feeling of distraught. Now I'm back at where it all started. Screw the green, screw the hands that kept me whole, and screw the complexity of their troubled souls. And yet, I find myself devoured into their hope, their dreams to be as real as can be. Pages upon pages, can I not escape the foretell fate of our secret - his. He's just fiction, a character I created within the depths of my thoughts that weaved with a fiends way. He beg's to escape, to be alive, to be again apart of me. But...then it dawned on me...
I've missed writing, and keeping him alive.
It's 3:23a.m, give it a rest.
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