Some nights within my mind I go back to the scenes of my crimes, And there are people casually walking by. I wonder why, Until I realize I'm the only person who sees those chalk outlines.

That's when I find, The regrets we have in this life Are only ours; Different voids and shafts, Even though held Within the same confines of a mine, Sifting through the rubble to find gold for hours.

A timeline of mortality already ventured across Concluding in that pine box Living our whole existence guarded, Mouth a taste so sour, Just to be in a coffin Six feet deep, But with no locks Proving that to circumstance we had no power.

Asserting the epiphany, That it's not the event itself but the response to it, That truly makes a coward Lost lonely in their thoughts Isolated in their high tower.

We ruminate and the darkness devours; We don't let go up until the moment We take it to the grave, pushing daisies In a garden of drooping flowers.