The man, alone, walked through his mind.
Dense, white fog curling around him,
Smothering his outstretched hands searching
For his watch, his precious timekeeper.

He heard it ticking down, getting slower and slower
Click.
Click...
C L I C K...

His fingertips brushed against the small,
Rusted, damaged watch, and slowly spun
it, round and round and round

C L I C K...
CLICK...
Click...
Click.

The fog slowly lifted,
revealing a lonesome tree,
blooming with a thousand
Colours, than anything
the man had ever seen

And there sat death, the patient lover
Always watching, always talking with the man
Telling him how much she missed his warm lips
And she asked for a kiss once more.

He solemnly brushed her lips, three times
And the taste in his mouth was always there
Even as he walked away,
Whole, hopeful, healing
Happy

Until finally, after many moons,
He finally kissed her lips once more.

I stood, fingertips blearily holding on
keeping that hopeful noose around my neck
just a little too loose...

Hello.

It's me.

No one else.

Except for the demons that lay behind me
but no one can see them if I never
face the sun....

I heard this quiet song
in my youth.

It's almost at it's end now, this slow, sad march
playing everyday, over and over, each second
building, louder, and louder..

It's impossible to describe exactly what it sounds like..

Broken hearts play the drums of regret,
Torn tendons make string-like sounds
snapping a harsh rhythm against the
taunt, hurried sounds of steel scratching
against the nails of my coffin that I built
just for me, just for now, just this once.

The melody isn't mine, it's the memory of
and ex-love. My first love, my first world, my first everything.

Sick, sick, sick, sick, sick, sick, sick
goes the beat, ticking down the
moments to it's end

It's a **** shame that I like the ending, a harsh,
quiet ending to the stupid, selfish, sorrowful,
pitiful song.