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My words
Are my words windy and white?
Or have they fallen to the floor?
Could any human, living or dead, mistake me for a demon?
I long to answer these wordless questions
That my heart presents me on a silver platter
And more than once I have failed heighten expectations
Is there a reason for breathing, other than the will to live?
Are we writing our own obituaries, or simply pointing fingers?
Why has everyone abandoned me when victory is susceptible?
Has my words failed to allow destiny? Again?
Are my words whinny and withered?
Or are they crafting the cover story?
Which came first? The beater or the beaten?
I wish to remember everything, but everything is escaping me
Construct my feelings on a blank piece of paper
And discover who finds it art
