mrcrozier

My rims are rusted and worn, my brakes are bled and shorn from running on these rotted roads trying to beat the Devil. But I’m still drowning on dry land, underneath the avalanche of my anxious heart.

The chestnut tree sheds its leaves as two friends spend one last day, and say adios in their own way.

Could you call me cold hearted or insincere if I don’t need to cry about it later?

The things I would have done, the things I would have said, if I had not let love make a coward out of me.

Do not come to me looking for sympathy, there is no neutrality here - the cause of this antagonism does not get my shoulder to cry on.

Sometimes the only certainty is that love remains in a world of change.

Tell me, tell me - what is your hurry? Why do you worry for a memory so fleeting when you cannot pause a moment and ponder or even remember what your monuments and benevolence will never bring back - what you promised to honor and never forget?

No more wood to knock down, no more nails to pound, so I knuckle stone instead, wishing my fists would scar these iron bars, and could brawl with the wall I built around my heart.