I've sat here before, in this very chair, on this very floor.
I've held in these tears, while running my hand through my hair over all these years, in this very spot.
I've learned through love, the greatest thing there is to learn, but beware of the things above.
I've noticed so quietly that nobody even cares and so I sit here so modestly, counting all those crows.
Sitting, flying, outside my windows.
I've cried forever for lives that seem to end up nowhere.
I've shattered my life somewhere in the past.
Written spots of time may resemble the significance of then.
But when I think back to how why, what, who, or when?
I wonder if it all will last.
The end of this poem, story, line, boat, and sinker.
Is it all just a distant memory?
Locked away, out of reach, in a treasure chest.
I may forget my rhyme, but I do remind myself to never rely on my thinker.
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