Taste of fate. Even without religion, we pray.
We curse ourselves with our own mental blocks, loss.

We tickle the clock - watch, we seek. Light.
Sorrows and good morrows are like a sweet night kiss, sin. Evident.

If we could we would, we should. Still and no move, we blame the weather.
We sweat the small stuff, we hug.

Striving to survive - penalty.score. We wish we were young.
I love you more than words. i want to hear from you.