Alt+F4

Delight and mud entangle; a soft and lucid embrace. Where holes string sorrow, I dwell on the edges, Of sin and grace. Ask and thou shalt receive, But believe not that it comes cheap. None has your eyes.

Gulfs of salt and tears. They run on the inside. None bears your stride.

Fear shadows peace. Smiles hide the pieces scattered within. Ctrl takes place While the joke goes on. Son, make haste, while eyes still linger, a little longer and before a final slumber.

Remember,

you are not you.

Not yet.