our last clutch at emotions
thrusts away from suspicions
and even the chair leaves behind
charred residues of hope
we speculate and plan
and practice on declines
but excessive speeding on turns
can't prepare us for this ride
and that's what I am
'cause I'm afraid to be alone
to walk along in the unknown
it's OK if the world just ends
as long as it's not just my world
yeah, I'm particularly selfish towards the end
while I'm perfecting
the nothingness of my youth
thinking perfection's
mere moments away
from across the street
the apple tree grows
ever feeds no humans
fruitfully it weighs
branches to the heavens
prophesize, unlike my own
my rusting coils of elation
await the fruit that never fell...
ow, my neighbor says
the skies are so clear
but why are clouds all I see from here?