Looking out the windows,

with the solemnest glance,

if I knew what to do I'd have already done it sooner;

unlike every wish I've ever made,

everything here is true.

With these ever-loathing sins,

I still can't remember it all;

"who's worse?" you ask,

and I never thought this would be considered,

"real,"

but I digress,

regress,

into the oncoming traffic,

blood clot in the street,

and back out that solemn window,

"smile."