It’s only easily forgotten
A pen and a mirror case
A tainted gaze on the floor
Not knowing how and where the next drop of rain will be walking to, hanging onto.
Terrorising the curb of our roads
Throwing perfected pieces of machines into the deep deep ends of the cruel system
So the next baby is celebrated at the crack of dawn
But there always is a new dawn waiting and the last dawn was forgotten and trashed out.
Destructive forces of air pressures
At this point, just
Just will you pass the parachute along and death might not seemed that terribly sorry after all.