There are so many things, that I cannot see what they mean.

Never knew it was temporary, fool be me.

Reality hits but doesn’t hurt until I feel it.

Making waves is not an occupation but a final destination.

Given a blank check to the heart’s infatuations, to bad the date was an expiration.

My confusion is not an exaggeration.

No longer breathing now I’m alone, can’t scratch the surface of the undertow.

Stories go to the end, but the book never closed.

My words are senseless unless you know.


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© 2014-2023-  Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.


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