For the many things they mistook.

The crazy things in her flipbook.

The pages upon pages creating a show.

The one you surely didn't know.

The stories and people that came to and fro.

Leaving you in woe as they parade around your brain wrapped in bows.

But maybe someday you'll focus on something else instead and change channels inside the circus in your bed and picture me as a part of the movie in your head.

Or perhaps it's something not to be wed.

Because dread will take over in the end sending nothing but a possy of crackhead trends.

And the projector inside your heart may stop playing.

And the beats to this soundtrack you've been laying will quit playing.

Until the depth of people shows again .

To abolish the sour wren starting at it's cranium.

Using uranium gas and shattering glass destroying all of your ideals.

Ruining the being, the only one, that is real.

- Ariah Christman