We all hug our regrets.
Like morphed chimney proclamations.
Like dirty rotten salvation,
picked up on the streets
between peasants and hypocrites.

We all hug our regrets.
We all lose our bets.
Cause our headphones cant bring damnation,
nor fearful worship,
Cause our headphones are just wires
clasped in a white shell
bordering streamlines
and antique corner cries.

But no matter how painted
this porcelain doll
seems to be,
she will always be pale
and empty.
And you can never hold the hand
of a twisted soul
without picking up the stain
of tainted charcoal.

Fore we all hug our regrets,
with a scent of ash and tinge of gray.
We all hug our regrets
Like morphed chimney proclamations.
Like dirty rotten salvation
left behind in post boxes
clamped inside heart shaped lockets.
We all hug our regrets
and free our dove-winged egos.
 
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