It was ever so faint. Her voice trembled with fear of another day. It was a voice speaking in a time only seen in her splitting heart, needy. When the fall is at its peak her blood will boil and heave and bring from all extremities the vanities of self-loathing. And darkness will pour from her heart; and as night turns to day, so will her bosom.
I saw a man outside my window putting a new cigarette to his old, almost-burnt-out one. The one was dying the other full of life sparking, smoking and finally on its way – burning.
I noticed as I was sitting there that I had an old breath, dying. So, I picked up a new one and pushed the one of life against the exhausted one and I continued writing.
And I can feel my love crying for me in the dark when no one is there; when those places that love filled, echo with the question of why we each have only become a need that is filled when solitary desire reflects on the other’s form, a shallow existence for all that is…
The ocean, the sky and everything. But I’m sure we will spoil love again, again.