Untitled as the Heart
Has he spent a life as glass? Light passing through his material like...
Was waiting for a smile to pass either to or from, but through him like..
Receive enough, and he would remember then, the face he knows his name by
I suppose the two exist only side by side
Has he spent his whole life a translecent paper of tinsel lines?
Moving back and now foward in pattern that defines
His every movement, action, thought or expression
A whole life a transaction between a sent and received progression
You can see here he has no real skin
Just the here static and there dynamic lines of life that lie within.
Only when and where those lines are clearly true.
Is the the closest he would ever get to meeting you.
Has he spent a life as glass? Light passing through his material like...
Was waiting for a smile to pass either to or from, but through him like..
Receive enough, and he would remember then, the face he knows his name by
I suppose the two exist only side by side
Has he spent his whole life a translecent paper of tinsel lines?
Moving back and now foward in pattern that defines
His every movement, action, thought or expression
A whole life a transaction between a sent and received progression
You can see here he has no real skin
Just the here static and there dynamic lines of life that lie within.
Only when and where those lines are clearly true.
Is the the closest he would ever get to meeting you.
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