2322 hours

Sunday, February 5, 2006 11:19 PM

I'm now always in my room. Writing and writing in my small four walls. Listening Fiona Apple. Her words sound so true in my head. Anything to help my nightime disease.

It's all about the cracking hearts...

close the door
but i want you in
picking up the ashes
from the ocean
the ashes of the once me
i burned
my fingers crumbled
as i tried to grasp the softness
of your own hands
only dust are left
covers your new suit
cursing under your breath
as you swept my finger marks
away on the left sleeve
of that grey taylor-made coat
i knew you would like the colour
ash grey was what
the man at the store
called his cloth
Ash Grey for a magnificant man.
i laughed
and maybe i blushed too
under all that powder
you were a magnificant man.
so i thought
but now
look at you
standing on the pier
with an empty soul
watching the wind
to take me away
but why
didn't you try to stop
the wind from
taking me away from you?

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