it’ll take you awhile but I’m sure you’ll find the blade buried somewhere in the words I speak
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a chill in the autumn air that speaks of ancient madness
night: past the darkness is a cradle of comfort that embraces all
autumn at the coffeeshop: the trickle of drizzle into a quiet state of mind
lights off: and we are nothing more than dust in this cosmic drama
relapse: the old world haunts us with dagger sharp stabs of guilt
dreams: of roots like the threads of fate in eternal entanglement
the earth exhales memories of summer older than time
the sweetness of travelling winds: a different shade of earth speaks to us
a mysterious blank space in the forest seems unwilling to explain itself
