Twister

The future reflects on broken glass,
Hopping stones because we melt.
When i'm alone I don't count as many bodies.
A man falling on swords smiles
At what you find pushing through exit wounds.
The sounds that paint us bounce from
The outskirts of a bubble taking tickets
Wearing ash as a sillouette.
Something bad happened here
Passed the curtains of your farmhouse.
This was my home, my dream.
It walked right in, pacing our spines,
Watching us at ground level.
Wind came as my grip was lost and
I counted heads.
Never saw such a whirlwind pointed at my personal hell.
I still love the things you took.
I'm good at getting thrown,
Why wouldn't you dance with me?