Fulcrum

Staring into my own Face No middle ground, I see it - each time they drown, in this ghostly memory: I'm staring into my own eyes, across from me Two sets of eyes i recognise all too well, as they mourn the loss of the Fulcrum. soft-wings, mourning, silent, silver tears falling, in silence, torn, confusion, as the balance is tipped. No middle ground, I see it - each time they drown, in this faded memory: I'm staring into my own eyes, across from me Two sets of eyes i recognise all too well, As they mourn the loss of the Fulcrum. The loss of the Fulcrum