The Passing Grip

And he said, and he said if they have a party in my name,

Then I am already dead.

Left alone, shattered hands, tainted man, this is all that was read.

Take these moments and reflect on what is left breathing here.

This nothing, laced in something you described undefined.

Lessons none, taught above, left below, oh these shadows,

And these wings at the blinds have my mind tied for hours.

Waste, wait, nothing for miles, this is the passing grip,

Long standing lines, but the end is when you sit.

Nothing but still, nothing but silence.

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