Saturday, Nov. 22, 2003
morning glory was never a good time for storytelling
finger tips desperately searching for a broken ledge to hold on to
nails bitten down to the skin and eyes so worn and vacant no one knows where the soul has gone
the brightest red ever seen runs down alabaster white skin
the point she lost herself was when the knock on the door made her cry
she is alone
she is alone
she is alone
i am alone
thissidedown at 1:25 pm