She leaves before they even have time to turn around and look at all the feelings that come forth from what has happened.
She leaves before they even have a chance to see past all that emotional weakness into the person she really is.
She leaves before they even have a chance to see that who she is, has nothing to do with who they are, and it was her fault.

And she still walk away and portray herself (behind those big black sunglasses) that she cares none of what she has destroyed.


Meanwhile, where you might forget, I won't.

I write on the basis of loneliness.


Car window; train tracks, passing cars, lonesome populations, and its canvas... the sky stretching past and beyond all comprehension.
Look twice and see the person beyond. The lady who's only fufillment comes in the salary she recieves mounthly. The little boy who has seen neglect before he was old enough to comprehend what it meant. The couple who has lost the love that once sat between them, not enough strength left to endure through it.

I look and I find so many people who probably concieve hope to be nonexistent. I get so frustrated with myself so much of the time that I hold the definiton in my hands, and in my heart but do not share more. I yearn to take that bluriness sitting between them and... life. I yearn and I take no action, because I am only beginning to figure this all out. Its hard to figure something like that out when every inch of this life seems to be dealing with despair.
I've come to find a lot of darkness lurking around not only the shadows, but on the open road.