Then the link between the due courses are severed and releashed. Do we care sometimes?
What colour is your tears? What?
Out there is a girl who love me. And she left without a trace. Now the city has become my tomb and the streets reek of her, and I can smell the stench of her monthly flow through the gutters, and still I miss her. She chokes me with her un-presence, and I crave her till my throat screams for fluid. I scream for fluidity but I am still the solid piece of flesh that I am.
Yet one more, but so much more...so much more...
What do I do? Where do I go? How must I flow? How? How?
I love you. Wherever you are. My Other. My All. ]
Mine to love, mine to hate, mine to let go and vegetate.