Waste of Time

I have no house, i have no heart, only art is which i own, not a penny or bills so many.

Alone i stand, riddled life, take a guess ,then, who made it a mess, put me to the knife.

Imsomnia as a friend is spokenly soft, never leaves your side, a loyal companion every stride.

Basking, abiding ever so dividing. Grim stance and means too mean.

A scent that lingers, entwined my fingers, reaching beyond what i can barely grasp.

On a crusade of hate, determined by fate, we will meet again, just wait.