Fire curtain

It is a cruel and deserted world. Only stacks of papers funnel around you and I in this empty space. There’s something embedded within your cold demeanor. Your fake laughs, the way your hands shake when you lose control, your pointless hunger for power. We’re like mice roaming around in a dusty, cold, metallic warehouse.

Yin Yang

Maybe it’s time, I don’t know, it happens every late morning And once in a while before bed… This feeling of total control over my life It’s like magic, with tricky hands I can see where the ball strikes next And wins. It’s like that in your harried presence It’s your commanding glare Looking at