1 September 2012

the guitar riffs mean nothing-

they pass right through me-

trying to echo the past-

the screams are haunting-

yet I don't feel a thing-

it's always too late-

the suspense doesn't really matter-

the first try was clumsy-

now you're stumbling-

and struggling-

to strum a simple tune-

your instruments burned with innocence-

sorrow, grief, pain-

they pass right through me-

and I'm the one who's left to blame.

belllalalaPointin Fingers • Opuss № I