Their little hands
one day will be big...
Stood at a crossroad
deciding which path to take...
If I had ever transferred some of my time in to a...
it still would not have grown interest...
I have distanced myself from the circle
trained myself to be alone...
Dozens of brushes stashed in jars
their bristles almost hard...
When using red on my canvas
why would you asume I'm angry...
It is so easy to get lost in a jungle.
Fallen trees, debris amongst many other weeds will...
When I look back over the years
I never find the poor me...
While walking alone in battered robes
I stumbled upon a lost broken road...
My life it is a tightrope
This wire is slippy as hell...
Literature is like a cool shower
It can make a man it's lover...
Lost my job some would say
But what a bright sunshiney day...