I feel every sidewalk step, for all was turned to drudgeries, the day I looked behind me. I would fucking kick myself, but I cannot while bound by a seemingly permanent clasp, I shackled to myself once.There lies friendship on the left ankle, and love on the right, and oh how they weigh the same, it has kept me in a straight line. But I am so in my head, going in circles, evenly and so small, I practically remain in the same place. This encumbrance is more than a reminder, but a token of assurance, that ensures that I grasp in every second of every day that I lost the two utmost important things to me in that moment. This strain is a confirmation that in the past I have tried my very hardest to keep my favorite cohort, and my favorite interest, and if I could not manage that, expending my greatest diligence, there is absolutely no indication I could ever. Oh what I still have to say and always will, and imaginably wouldn't be this lost if I didn't stray and wander from my path, repeatedly. I believed modestly that this despondence would fade and wither but instead incrusted, and became itself the grout, and I have attempted to make stained glass from my shards but proved to be nothing in the absence of your light. On my left, most nights I would just like to tell you about my day, and on my right, you brought blood to the surface, that I didn't know was there.
"And the silver turns to gray
stay with me arienette, until the wolves are away"
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