I shall never again be that boy of vitality.
An oracle of innosnence and curousity.
The pieces of me are too scattered.
Spread throughout the machanisms of time.
I am now a man of misgivings,
A harbinger of meloncholy memories.
The children shoot invisible weapons
While mine are daggers painted with blood.
My cinema enima ends badly.
The fine is forever finite.
A cracked windshield racing down my demon highway.
Putrid and potent, stainind the ones next to me.