It's funny how we design or dreams around the thaught that it could be infinite,
But never realizing that those merky seams, are nuzzled out passion fruits of innocence.
Living a whole life until discovering the belief, that is tangled, currupt; illiterate.
Loves reputation bantered around , like an attention seeker triffeling for a complement.
A constant reminder of division, a punishment, a sword hot blade down my side,
for my wicked sceams, for here there is no agruement.
I held too many promises in a bloody hand, leaving no one in my path to kiss contentment.
For Loves heavy wings have tooken me away, without sum of the same fruit of my descent.