The grim look he gave me was more than enough,

The time ticking down never felt right.

Dawn came, only that it wasn't soon enough.


His soft purring would never be heard again.

Love doesn't work like how it does in the movies.


Imagine all the red wine spilt.


And all the sleeping pills taken.


Sepia turns to gray-scale.

Love, a most bitter pill.

Riddle me this.

I am every bad day you had.

I am every tear you never shed.

I am the bullet in the gun you never fired.

I am the light you sought, only to realise the brilliance within isn't too much brighter than the shadows without.

I am every bad thought you ever had.

I am the shaking of the wrist, the trembling of the fist.

I am the silence in the trees.


What am I?

wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one's life, to one's home or homeland, or to one's family and friends; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time:



Tracing the runes down your face
Memory serves me well, I did this before.

Inside yesterday again, tasting sepia.


Funny, it tastes like maple syrup.
Accompanied by Dutch syrup stripping
Randy layers of my mind away

Cryogenic tones take over
Ravaged by time itself
Yesterday will always be rosy

But today has tender roughness
Today has the King in Black attending to his Lady In Red
Tomorrow will have him repeat the same cycle again
Because yesterday will always be rosy


It's yesterday, and a funeral.
It's yesterday, and a broken promise.
It's yesterday, and a contract signed.

It's just yesterday.

So tell me.

If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again,
And arriving at the same result.


What about doing the same thing over and over again, and finally arriving at a different result?

grinning
smacks lips


Why, I'll tell you.

It's genius.

Clean up after yourself,
Your mess invites more that are akin.

Why did I ever bother?

Your patterns break out once again

Nothing you have ever let go

Came back to you


Like the oceans you crossed

But yet the only ocean that you never seem to swim in

Time, time itself.

Don't your own primal instincts tell you to give up the ghost?

Grabbing it all by the hair,

Suspending your belief that it could even happen in the first place.

Ah, a beautiful explanation is due, isn't it?

I'm afraid there's none.

It's your fault.

The intimacy of the memory leaves me shaking with its lack of mercy.

The intricacies of her theory leaves me hungering for delicacies she might have offered.

The original sin was that pride left me a long time before I realised I hungered for only one concept : constant change.

A heavy heart, but a constant weeping, until the day either of us turns back.

Will you?

Something so much more simpler than anything else - void of thought, void of want - just the two of us

I still recall the tears that opened after the years fell from your face.

I ask none, but to be strong.

I am and will be walking after you.

Closer and closer I inch, til I one day will be beside you again.

What started off with me, will end with us.

You're my light.

The dark will swallow me, with only your light to dispel it.

From a lord of the moor, to the King In Black.

From a lady in red, to the Red Queen.

Our language, the only one we need.
Our cascade, remorse, repense.
Our beginning, restart, end.

Back to the shadows on my moor.
The Grey Lord into ash..
And the King In Black with a crownless throne.