[Split]

"Would you believe there's only four people in the world, and when you're not looking, they change masks?"- Eyedea


N:
Elder Technicolor Irish lilt, echoes vibrant still in these open hallways.
Alzheimer drills its sober concave. Final act of humility with a close of curtains,
Reciting "Yes" in brittle curses. A bridal purpose cheapened in lonely fall-state,
Steeped in soapy dog days. Home to me is only where the coat hangs,
Churning grind of docile dimness, simply awful "Let's play house" identity,
Sad to see city strangers spilling round, dressing up the sounds in your vicinity.

S:
Hobbes and Calvin carving halls with washable markers,
Snarling in darkness, the star that stalled in the guardian's garments.
Such raw will imparted in a bawling carcass. It's all but hard, to crash to Earth,
And play the part of amateurs. The heart regards itself as non-cliche,
Despite your hardy, foaming angst, you'll never starve your growing pains.
You know your name, are told your age, it all depends how long you stay.

W:
In loving jest, confess I love you.. infinity+ an integer.
Figures that, you were always prettiest as a miniature.
My city skyline silhouette. Eyes cinnamon-centered obsidian.
The way diamonds are the forever moment floating on your fingertips,
Holding onto innocence, a ring, a jewel, a wedding gift,
The closing pause, slowly dozing off in closing all your sentences.

E:
The varnish wore off the wood in a peculiar fashion.
Accrued a grasp of human action, through the satin.
Sheets and sheets of pulpy grain. They claim its lavish.
Oakheart, dry and worn to core. An open armoire door.

I remember how i used to take things out, just to see how I looked.

"HERE LIES JOHN SMITH. SON. FATHER. HUSBAND. DEARLY DEPARTED."