WRITING IN DEATH

My final act to you is to strive into tiny reigns and forage all my flowers and letters and oranges to you.

To beat down an old grape - rod and discover innocence and a freeing of being - to share the holy ghost - to bend over backwards in the name of solitude 

But it was only once in a lifetime I spun the wheel of hate, I spun it for the one listening in my dreams, for the flow age of the words and the motto of despair. When he looked past all the profound duality in me and all I wanted was understanding. And when I performed my final act… all that was left was an image of a Gun. 

It all went bleak and I kept looking inward of my bald destiny 

As we sat for hours holtering a despicable alignment of necessity 

And the ocean turned to murk, and you drove your car by the bridge and we looked over… you looked over the ravagement and betrayal 

My first act to you was depth