Foot steps down the hall.
I wonder who that used to be?
Flowers in the garden.
Forget me nots and keychains.
Nothing’s really wrong,
it’s all quite alright.
I do this to myself just usually at night.
Tie this all together and throw it off a cliff.
Paint me something pretty like birds on a handkerchief.
It’s fun to be elusive.
Nice to escape the pain.
An empty loss, a broken cross, most of everything I can’t explain.