These the feelings that don't follow. after death Suffocation in my head, I spent too many nights In a huddle. with regret, I was gazing at the window From the corner of my bed, Staring at the mirror.

I can see my faults in red. Take my pencil out instead Confiding in this parasol, I left Arriving to conclusions That I drafted as a message. These the scars I've been carving Let it bleed through the bandage. Yet this practice, a paddock

Let me gallop to the edge. I swear the mind, be nomadic, Grazing my distress. Man, the peace ain't a passage. What's the fee for these habits? Man, my life isn't tragic, But I think about the ending.