Nice

Blond strokes fill the mad heart With creative ways of thinking, other than art When I spoke of literature and finding new ways To observe these foul days I never knew you until I thought about the windowsill Then of course with a leap of faith, I died When the things of life get away from, wind tunnel emotions Rivers without oceans, nothing is the same, it’s just the same Nobody at all is the blame It’s just that When the old year’s get fat You run out of things to say to a woman But you know where it’s at Running out of time is exhausting and words fly To high far above the floor And things get twisted out of context When the mind seems vexed She turns into her Then the night turns into a blur I thought she said she loved a loved, like a kiss Underneath the sun x-rays, that is when we miss Something fulfilling and life threatening This I find very upsetting Because I get an opportunity to talk But get the door closed in my face Right along with this long walk