Last one, but not the first.
See the last one
Not really my last
The one before
Who chose to open that door
Left that door open
& just walked away
As in if, it wasn't cracked from our time before
Like the knocker wasn't knocked
To flee to me when im flocked
To unmoore me in a storm
Now im a boat undocked
Drifting away until I find my name
A piece of wood carved so fine
From the finest tree rooted away from natures poverty
Cut from a tree that wasnt uprooted, rerouted and turned to saw dust
My dust will settle
The winds draft will mettle
Not last, but the one before.










