everyday when you avoid to like what you care for
what you feel for
=that is far and in dismay now=
you bear a death and a deadly world.
your bones crack under that feeling, telling you something is fundamentally wrong.
every day you change skin
while they change your memory.
everyday there is one more stitch
that bounds you to a reality.
that is a reality that is a reality that is a reality.
and you sing
“where do they go the the smoke rings i blow”
expecting to shine
under the false promises of starry nights,
for a good life,
a good life that is.