Morals have come crashing to a rising halt to no avail
False bruises that hide til the last show stopping number
finaly reveal their true colors
which is not black or blue
but more of a gray
like a misty night sky
A spark of twilight like ash shimmers in an unseeing darkness
leading to a point in time where voices hack and cough
Homeless people tan much to the envy of house dwellers everywhere
bringing forth guilt that they indeed have a place to put their hearts
Snakes slither into nightime windows left open for escape
My eyes are still open and it's morning