Room 213 This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

June 30, 2010
All of my friends wear tears of the imbrued
And I can't help but ask why they've been
So soaked in life's resource
They spoke a mumbled little phrase
About our folded flag washing away
And our prayers withering away our knees
How they taught us a false reality
That we drove into our veins, thinking it was better than heroin
Until we did the math and shook hands with realization
I knelt by their side in the cave of dirge
And, in my ear, they whispered their hurt
But how they've become cynical cadence dancers
Transforming into the people that fight chandeliers
Fought for attention that was filled with redemption
Made them ask what made all those stupid thoughts worth thinking?
With the miles stuffed down their throats and it cringed to be breathing
It's only a matter of time, I tell myself
Watching their chests rise and fall with the sound of cold machines
It's taking such a toll on me
Because the pages were so open and there wasn't even an introduction
None the less, I had set up a prologue like a prophecy
Their hollow hearts beating like shallow acoustics
Until the electricity and ice
Has no place inside their glazed eyes
Or the regretful sobriety of mine
Watch me throw the chair out the window and ease the flow
With broken glass all over my memories
I'm tired of letting these monsters grow
Let my breaths have coffee with cold machines

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