don't worry, you're not going to die and if you die is not going to be by your lungs, its going to be
because of your heart, your lack of it, and because you did not hear it. you and your arrogance
your unfinished scripts, little pieces of thought in badly written sentences, stories
why all of the sudden all have meanings? Is this well written? i don't really care now
it seems i'm writing a letter but it's a full lie

a line, a space, a divider, is all i need to separate: my feels, my chills, my stills
but you can't read them, this is perfectly engineered to be unreadable, i hope
you find yourself one day, i really hope so, if there is any desire worth
is finding the real one and leave the ideal and the hate behind

well you think this is unfair but the greatest amount of your circumstances
are by your choices and your reactions and whatever...
i'm  engaged to nothing


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