Death is rarely graceful, Wrote the man as the clock struck 3

There once lived a boy In a house made of glass

There were scratches inside the oven.

I don't want to fall in love.

Sometimes I wish I could read minds.

I sleep beneath a cage of glass A curiosity on display

All that is left is this box. I found it where I should not have been.

Samantha was not one much for understanding the reasoning of adults.

I sit at a much more peaceful place Then where we went

In my time I have taken to the habit of hanging out in graveyards.