Lately I have a lack of inspiration

Leaky rooves! Third floor compaionship. If I could stop I would. Keys don't fit and now you're just sad, stuck out in the rain. Your corruption is chosen, just like the pattern of your nails and I can't see far enough anymore to stop you. Secretly I'm hoping you'll show up. Everything would be like our most lonesome of moments... But caved in enough as to form a perfect arch in hopes of salvaging the past. You open your mouth and all we hear is foriegn tongues spoken in sounds unknown. Flourish a little more and maybe something would start running at your course of interjection. I want to live in trees and sleep on a beach and concentrate again. I want a crack at your mind and I want to make you good at last.