And so

And so it comes, once more, in a whirldwind thrash and a sprinting dash. And I don't know what I'm talking about anymore as the darkness descends behind sharp shrewd eyes. I was captured in still, stoic movement. I was liquid amongst shapes and sounds and everything else was not. And I'm sick of the trickling in the cold stiff air. And I'm disgusted at being used as a scratching post, getting this whim and that urge out in subconcious light. And I wait for neon glows among others. And I wait to here the chattering babble of the morning song, the friendly call. And I take my turn, not living, not dying, just inanimately passing through time. And once more she holds the blade glistening slick to my jugular. And she reaches into my veins and pumps her poison straight in. Beating my heart in irregular time. Struggling to keep her stone ice grip on my lost-passion limbs. And there is nothing while I wait. There is nothing while I breathe. There is nothing left to lose. But nothing ready to be gained.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPod touch]