I inhale those memories
afraid to let go...

Do what you want with them,
but these are my promises to you...

My rampant ways will try to cover these mistakes,
but neon confessions seep through the blacks and...

Dissolving the black & white of this world,
into the pastels of my imagination...

We are the prized possessions of magazines and TV
We are owned by the media and game show forms of...

I want to hear the thunder
I want to taste the rain...

I'm a mass of confusion
having nothing to say...

The candle wax from the ceiling of my mind
trickles down the walls...

En-wrapped in my black clothing
I feel invisible to the world...

Do you get some kind of confidence,
from painting on that face...

And with her last breath,
she whispered to death...

-*- The first two stanzas are about one person...
Your words are stale, they're no longer clear...