Waking. a long road.
hair in my eyes.
not so long ago.

June is a name with birth
of warmth;
she knew why it's that way
but never raked a surface
straight.

His name was songs;
did she know why they sing,
there was more than
a first.
catchy, I see things 
in you.

Never can a stop,
I look to some top plated 
hill but it's just as deep:
call me your sweetie again,
you deserve it.

Can I?
Will lessons I teach
see me straight as 
I keep looking for 
an electric charge to 
kill me and hate her again;
he will save a good start,
for June is the beginning.

Ends started with travel;
if I don't look I can fetch
and pretend I don't see
results.
they mimic what I want.

guess what?
It does matter as it lives.
breathe into me again,
as I can alway remember
sleep started,
roads have not known
to begin without
waking again.