The keys are in my hand, and my life is too.
The door to grief is blue, light and airy, but, why does it feel so dull and scary?
The door to madness is raging red, for the past and future, it has shed.
But, why does it feel so dreary and dead?
The door to freedom is yellow with respect, it feels so high and tall,
As it does not answer a tyrant’s call.
Yet, it feels so fake and stale.
The keys in my hands are not for these, but, love, darkness, and cease.
And as I wait in the hallways, dark and haunted.
I search for the keys I threw away too soon.
Quisque dapibus volutpat tincidunt. Pellentesque ultrices enim a volutpat commodo. Praesent varius, risus at consequat feugiat, arcu nunc mattis arcu, eu sodales urna mi posuere diam.
Aenean ex orci, eleifend quis enim nec, auctor sollicitudin nisl. Duis nunc turpis, sodales vel nisl ac, placerat pellentesque odio. Curabitur ullamcorper eget elit sit amet tincidunt. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus.
Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. Mauris sodales turpis sed lorem cursus, in porttitor nisl vehicula. In cursus velit aliquet urna fringilla placerat. Suspendisse vulputate vehicula volutpat.
Cras ultricies nibh augue, sit amet egestas neque sodales ac. In imperdiet orci est, nec dictum lacus ultrices ac. Donec bibendum nulla ac euismod euismod.