the byline

From the cold hard ground that I fell flat on my face

Symbolic towers that were built with the intention to reign

Feasts that were thrown to enchant the unconcerned mass

Every scent and allegory that reminded of that bitter agony

Got blurrier and blurrier as my eyes soaked up the rain

Brought brand new perspectives on what I choose to call a disgrace

The well known storyline started to deck the puddle a foot just splashed

A former lover and an old ally crossed the bridge holding hands

Whatever it was that the crook of the neighborhood said

His words weren't enough to make them stay

He could've moved on to better things

Things he could find bliss in without tracing

Ghosts of a reality that is nothing but fiction

But he chose to be locked up in his hardwood cabin

And tried to block out the world's constant screamings

The puddle disappeared as the air got clearer and warmer

And my overflowing mind finally understood the danger of it's attachments

Why is my hometown my dreaded hell

when It's one of my favorites?

Is it really an ungoing cyle of shame and regret

or is it only my choices?

I scatter around bags of new chances every given minute

To other's who never bother to take it

Why don't I open up my fists

And see If it actually fits

Maybe the pens the crowds use everytime

They want to add in new requests on my timeline

Can break in two,If I use mine to draw that fine line

I crave my name in cursive on the byline

For my own story that I call my life

I'll let sun shine one more time

Let's see If there will be a sign