I can’t hear you!
Those lights are pretty, aren’t they?
As if some havoc is written over them,
As if they crave for the touch of that solemn surge of souls again,
Hey, look what I made,
Off these broken shards of dried flakes of my soul,
Hey, look I am shivering,
Maybe I’ve overdosed, on the fumes of my self loathing leftovers,
I will be!
Look what I made again!