The Crack In Her Smile Is That Of A Mirrored ReFlection Thin And Smooth

Killing Seasons Of Memorys,
They SomeTimes Drag The Mind To Snap,
RubberGloved UpOn The Hands Of Fate,
Not Faith... No... You Fools... Blind Faith Can Not Lace Thy Ribs' Cage
From The Weaveing Seekings Of Fate,
Destiny SomeTimes Turns Her Cheek To Allow For Darkness To Loom,
To Let The Wandering Be ShapeLess In Their Vigilance,
In Caverns Beyond Their Wispy Fold...
...
Likened To The Tautness OverHead,
The Sky Could Crack To Reveal Another Hungry Passage For A Twitchy Strummer,
Kicking Over That Chariot InTo A Fitting Doom,
Where No Month Be Of Its Own Creation's Sake,
There Be Some Who Still Wool Their Eyes...
...
...
For The Soft Shelter By Giants,
And Pan-Handled Lullabys...
...
Reeds By The Mud Whistleing For The Wind,
As If The Winters Could Carry A Tune... Past Fury...
...
...
Flowing To The Skin,
And Then Back To The Grape Vine,
Devoted To The Devoured,
As If Flesh Could Grow On Trees.