The drop of a needle sounds like the falling of an anvil; In the center of my existence. I was forewarned and forbidden; Oh, but it made the fruit from the Garden even sweeter. It had an edge; How ever sharp or dull the knife. It made me feel daring and alive; Now its smothering me. All of It. Now, Some sad sort of creature who can't get a hold of its being sits in the mirror before me; Its has an inhumane existence to trundle on with. Its dying of an addiction no rehab can cure, however hard they try. Falling; falling to the void. Deep into the withered hearts of those long before who suffered and lost. Aye; It has suffered and lost. No humanity left in these cheap wine like bones. With sunken lips and bruised hope. No love to live on and none to give away. Come join it in it's bleak and tragic existence; Wallowing in the dirt of its grave. Crowned and dug it lies with no prospects to forgive. How wise it thought itself to be. Stinking of sunshine when really it was rotting to the core. Vile imperfection and false intentions. Knives and daggers to those whose crossed it's path. Bleach bones and beach whales in its wake; How unforgiving the cold to the man who has been cast out; Rejected? How dead a bird whose wings have been clipped; Broken? With bleeding heart to match. Not even It could fly with broken wing and painted snarl in the fashion of a grin. With sharp teeth and empty longing. Oh how it longs for just a whisper on the wind from the old country.But so it will trudge; Broken with a head of false hope on it's hunched over shoulders.