Lonely by the night rotation trying to escape the fight. Alive n running by days giving mornings light. History in the makings no one ever knows. Home being the one place torn am n pm. Living through the mingling of empty dms. Alone in the hrs behind the shade. Expressions upon the face shape shift as time is paid. With silence becoming a long friend. Just to feel life from the sun touch the skins singe. Like a revolving door chasing the stillness moving within its realm. The ol topsy turvy of the teetering seesaw goes up n down. As the back in forth of daily moods transform with the now. From dark places to bright skies. Opposites of self linger within disciplined sighs. From the pits of solitude to the upright living. What's hidden from sight is true self wasting away in the act of not giving. Trapped in the illusion of hope nothing ever feels alive. But in the come around of the return of sun rays there's a difference in the hype...
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