Gear on a door frame, with

no hope and dreams that are

not taken seriously.

The passion of help is

on the way for you.

The gult of not listening

to ones feelings go to far.

They hold back and don’t help

you with the rest of what needs

to be done.

The crack on a window

shatters into a million pieces

and flies everywhere.

The cuts then appear on

my body and then fly into

the air.

The flashing lights, the suicidal

momite rushes to get help from

who ever helps them.

Not caring to the world, and

watching loved ones die, go to

far.

The pain of gult get to me

and watches me cry for help.

The pine needle turns and points

north towards my next stop in time.

Gear on the door disappears in
thin air and reappears on a girl

of a ghost girl that was once there.