jumping into informality tearing up the dividing lines clinging onto the past and denying the future at the expense of losing that glimmer in our eyes and once it's gone, we never notice how many others are out there, black eyes, charcoal soul just waiting for someone to walk along with their magic golden paintbrush and add a little meaning to their meaningless existence writing poetry to pretend that they're a little bit more bleak than they'd like to admit and dressing in black to accentuate their sunless skin but i hold on to the fact that i can still see i am.
