..and the next moment i’m down on the floor,

Not wanting anyone I know.
Up in a rented attic I lay.

Hearing frantic knocks on my door.

Someday I might find the ‘good’ in this bye.

Someday i’ll try and the reason I never cried.
When ‘why? Would matter no more,

and all your glimpses will be dead.

Randomly leading strides,

with my itching bald head.
Trying to figure out where my body doesn’t hurt of its fighting last night.

All the saints may fail to rescue me.

All my ghosts will make way,
for my soul to find its peace.

In a battle it long lost before.