im not sure how to title, i wasn't really sure how to finish it; so i just left it.
untitled
Nothing means anything,
No maker of sense.
The trader of glory,
Says nothing, commence.
No passion behind the lust,
No truth behind despair
Just lies like city smoke
Polluting open air.
So walk on to fight,
To hold your own in
pressed against the sky
face against the skin.
watching a waiting lyrebird
he breathes in and smells decay
he turns, he’s lost the will to fight
he has nothing to say.
he’s arrogance apparent
it shows though he’s unseen
the innocence that once was white
is dirty and unclean.
