From the bottom you float up; Little scribbles I wish I could make you into art; In great expectations and passion you present to me; But I am consumed by beauty and shadows; Soaked in reeking blood of apathy.
(This is pointless, I mean life. So, here I celebrate the pointlessness of it all... My purpose here is starkly my need to write. Get these off my chest and my head...before I drown in them...)