Cogs ticking, time whirling, deep thoughts imbedded in rich caves of dust

No one managed the day well enough 

To pause, instrumentally plucking glass from the ground, to stop and smell the dirt of humanity or the 

Roses 

           For

                That

                        Matter. 

Save that box of pain and burry it deep, deep...deep I tell you, no one should unearth the blood-stained treasures of blades. 

Excuses, hiding a mask behind a mask 'till your real face doesn't live in the sunlight anymore. Excuses, pulled high in teetering mounds of delicious lies...no 

                                                                                                  one

                                                                         wonders anymore.