I know your true colors.
You're the kind that's addicted to the damage.
You waste your minutes
Polluting your spirit with emptiness.
The only thing that fills your space is deterioration.
Pictures on the floor are torn
They're starting to accumulate dust.
Holes are starting to take form
The colors have faded
Signs of age
It looks like a mouse has gotten to them.
I see the marks.
The pictures represent all the times
You could have been with me
Summer nights walking around the park
And watching blood moons
Surrounded by fireflies.
But you chose the damage instead
You handed your seconds to emptiness
And let it swallow each one
They can't be returned.
The time can't come back.
- Justin G.