It's easy to say, when you're so down, that everything's pointless; your eyes burn, your ears howl, your limbs are disjointed. Barren fields, the barren
dark, most telling mask. After all the pantomimes are ended he peels all the make-up off his face to reveal, beneath, the tears running all down his cheeks: alne, he opens to the world
These days I mainly just talk to plants and dogs - all human contact seems painful, risky, odd; so I stay acting god in my own universe where I trade
Slow motion in the quiet of the room; so potent is the smell of her perfume that you think she's eternal, that you think she is everything... but no-
I will arise: in the depths, I will open my eyes; as my breath almost fails me, survive. Wait - there's something unclear, there's soemthing I fear