Is my life a tiptop in the wooden floor?
Or is it a slam on an open door?
Have I pour it out intentionally?
Or have I act as if I'm a weak tree?
My mind put a dare in front of me.
Filling what's lacking as if my enemy.
It's definitely some sort of horror.
But is my walk at stake, I'm not sure.
I see questions come and go.
In the night sky, in the wind blow.