• If and were
    Are not the same things now,
    In my darkness lie,
    I am to be who I was then,
    Awake in silence.
    Or of implications they say,

    And every time,
    These waves pass me by,
    As the children cry,
    I stand alone in thought tonight,
    I breath again once,
    More, and infatuated, I cry,

    I write these words,
    With my heavy-laid heartache,
    Put away to rest,
    In my chest of somber secrets,
    Because promises
    Are never meant to be kept,

    So in my eyes,
    I fall asleep under ceiling
    fans, and starts,
    Of broken glass finish lines,
    And books I know,
    I never read for school today.