In the wee hours of morn, My aching bud suffers, In the dark side of hope torn My site is crashed by surfers Described as duty Ascribed as heavenly, An engine gets rusty, And then I get lonely? Look at the other side, The side where my cheek hurt the most, Take up one current tide, Like water crashing upon a rock Soon it will over and then frost Rather not receive a tune, The ceaseless breathe still on my neck, Rather not smell him, The stench of achieved glee overpowers my senses, Loose is the next best next word, Disease of the mind termed right, If enough, my distant sis will say... My little is yet judged again Again I am rushed into the ward, The ward of nothingness, I forget the real world, But behind me there is only sanity of my fruits, Not once would I blame me like before, Not again would there be civility in this, And it all goes off like damaged bulb, Long away I will stay, OH yesterday my light turned, Only to find those hand an
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