Sometimes I think I might have forgotten to feel. Hours pass by and I wait for that spark, that muse and that desire to overwhelm me again. The fragment of a memory with discoloured faces finds its way before my eyes and I cannot remember your name. You, who sat and talked of stealing the music from the morbid, I cannot remember your name.
I suffer from the most insignificant and ordinary things in life - I stand on my toes and watch the skies split in front of my eyes. It starts with a black line that runs through my veins and reaches through the roots and high rise yellow apartments...slowly engulfing the sky.
I shiver, I cry...but I cannot feel. |
Submission Name: Wither
