15 July 2012
The wight cotton sheets lay cotton soft on the bed.
But there's still this saturated silence buzzing in my head.
The argument it's over, but I am refusing to leave.
So we shall sit here, in the silence, barely being able to breath, starring at the floor, thinking in our heads... Why don't I just reach for the door?
The argument is over.
The Wight cotton bed sheets lay there untouched and so perfect, it's a shame about the blood on the floor.
Forever Is Over • Opuss № I