Sunday, January 31, 2010

it feels so different this time 'round



This room. This empty room. These white walls. These bloody walls. This silent heart.
This heat. This frost. This inexplicable desire to say yes. This knowing. This confusion.




This beat. These footsteps. These silent sounds of a naked journey. These hands.
These songs. These melodies. These notes that make my heart bleed. This blood.




These memories. This nostalgia. This melancholy screaming at me.
This pen. These swords. This perpetual struggle stretching my skin.




This view. These bars.
This clock. Those words.




Only this.