the death of a lantern.
I've rested my head on the shoulder of many, the straight lines that have broken or cut. I've been painting murals in hopes that you'll believe there's a stench of vague love. I hope this train covers itself as it de-rails off the wrong track and plummets. I've heard the ocean will swallow you whole. It's so forgiving to disappear with the Ships that set our country in motion. The founding fathers scribed bitter documents for our existance that paraphrashed my thoughts. Maybe this bullet will find it's mark, I've spent days disillusioned carving it from stone. It's possible that someday I'll be an original but until then, I'll remain carbon copied.