Bocephus

I Pour Gasoline on Matches
And try to light em underneath an ocean's worth of crude oil
That is forcing it's way into my lungs
My high hopes hung their heads in the past as they waited to be hanged

But now the concept of life felt empty and displayed itself as a delay
A casual lack of oxygen shut off all process in the brain

And we are on our way.


~spark~


in the depths
And the darkness fades to grey,
**A less ambivalent shade.