7 April 2012
There is a dead feeling like dry skin like dry smiles makes outlines in the snow. The water escapes the heat through the air, the gas is building tears, they fall the wrong way.
The light from the thunderstorm inside and I see what you're hiding from me. Hands with nails as long as claws forms shadows of your dying days, they drag their knives against the wall, tearing off all flesh so I can't look away.
Something new is something better and the chain is pulled, your nails like shackles so that I can't take the first step away. As if you see his hands over your mouth when I stroke mine against your cheek. You swear that you can't see his love when I have just begged you to see mine.
In the morning I wake up with tracks on my skin, the spiders in your dreams have kept me still. You welcome me by facibg away. It is too late to turn around again.
Dead Skin • Opuss № I