A/N: Just something, i wrote at the bus stop. holding my breath and waiting for the bus, which didn't come after all. I should have walked. something as inconsequential as a bus must be reliable or at least worth hoping for. Even Constantine doesn't hear me.

Constantine is on repeat
And thank god I'm not feeling myself today
I'm not hearing the empty - because that's what it and Bald
Writing incoherent songs on a black board
Only to loose those momentarily thoughts
My windows to the past

I'll loose myself - I'll fall in deep dept
To the autumn leaves I owe
& to the tantrums I threw - before I lost me
To take it home is not a choice
Saying our goodbyes are just too painful

So let's stall it some more
And hope that things work out somehow
In my world of sins