I can seem longer than what I am. I can be creepy if not lit properly. Twins want you to play with them in one of these.

At the crossroads where paths divide, A silent guide stands with arms spread wide. Directions given, none to abide, A sentinel of journeys, by the roadside.

When emotions overflow, silent streams carve paths down cheeks, a storm within without thunder, saltwater released from the soul.

Four bubble letters, for you to find My second gone: a bleeding pine. My third away: a soaked, wet mop. All four: together hands, dirt stops

A desk by name, I own your days, Waste at my core, a hidden sin, Yet racy end deceives your gaze, It grinds your days to paper thin.