A sweet song,
I think I'll have a cigarette soon
Inhale the deadly smoke into my lungs
And let it do it's work
I'll smile
A stupid dance
I should have breakfast soon
How odd this ritual of feelings and toast
I always feel better though,
After breakfast.
An old heart
Doesn't let things get to deep
Things cling to the surface, which means they
Fall of easier, tearing the edges
Which hurts
But they heal
And suddenly a bird sings
How odd that I can feel all better so quickly
Maybe its a kind of magic
Or music.
Words help
Letting things out. Black on white.
I suppose that good things come in threes
Love, Heartbreak and Rebirth
Waltzing.
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