Cold wind follows me as I walk home. Refreshing and abusive wheather. Pulling up my collar does me no good. Once again I suffer from being ill prepared. Sore and chilled from bad decisions. Yet I am warm inside.
I am a fast one. Speeding past it all. Zooming and floating.
Togther the world slowly collides. Leading me to read to you agian. But never hearing my voice. You imagine sweetness. But I am a rasp among many. My voice a sour sound to your ears.