So much is lost in time.
Words are taken in the wrong meaning.
Soon te bridge is but a scar of memory.
Sweet moments but a fargone reflection none of which
I choose to recall.
the laughter stale as the beer in this smoke filled room.
Music heals but stabs us deep.
Cents for the pain.
Numbers the tune.
Her body is there but not for anyone to
the backward thougts with forward visions.
The emptyness my home hollow in the aftreglow.
My return is long overdue and to soon my exit.
A thief of emotion that exist only within my pen.
Has it been lost all over agian?