23500
2
　
laughter
filter through the sun
whispers
a whole host of brevity
　
through the corridor of my mind one would suffice
once this life is lived never another chance at which to roll the dice
a fatalist
like a bird on a wire
　
snap shot moments of our past
hoping that you would soon grasp
a memory of a distant shore
the quest to want more
　
we are buried yet burdened from deep inside
the sweat of the hands
when will we ever live to understand
lucid dreams
　
things falling apart at the seams
lets look ahead and never from behind
the crust of the bisquit is the apostrophe
better off letting things be
