The Times

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2.

3.

1. Lies on the pedestal, truth on the floor. Its a stick-up on sanity on the corner of mine. Robbers too quick on their feet, tongues slick with deceit. Words that rat-a-tat-tat on the dime. Bodies on the block, merchants taking their stock. Villains laughing at the times.

2. Walking on the empty airs of the night. My heart feels the cold but my flesh breathes warm. Cuts that go unseen, what a tragedy to see, clutching at my barren chest. Memories die but the love lingers on, like a blue mist of darken lagoons. My fingers numb from caressing the emotions of yesterday as the sounds of today drag them to the void. To start from the beginning, might bring it forward what there was to what will be.

3. It cried for what was, It cried for what was to become. Delicate flower, was our love and you left it on the concrete for something prettier to eat. You suck this thing called love dry in me, 'til no nectar can there be produced only a sour soppy milk of poppies. This shattered floral delight has lost all its shine, like the sun setting for the evening darkness to consume. You left it to wither on these begotten streets, not even a taste of soil or a touch of water to comfort me. You left was could be for what was present, this potential couldn't compete with the tangible.