5:45 a.m. - 2007-07-06
Spun
Spinning, spinning, spun, wound up, weaved into another's skin. Bluntly lying to myself, pretending that this is what I really want. Midnight strikes, then the here-after takes it's place in the throne of the mind. Thought to live in the right, then the vacuum swallows the light, and I am intertwined into dead bark, once again.

I remember her fingers burning up in the air and the remains falling so gently upon me eyes, like snow flakes blessing my tainted sight. I know that reaching out to her is pointless, unable to change the course of time, but I can't bare to lose what used to be mine.

I can't forget the violent spinning of the clock and how it's hands are so unforgiving. I tried time, time, and time over again to brake the shards of the life I used to lead before, but they've made their way though my skin, into the marrow, viciously reminding of her dissapearence into thin air.