Grate: hearts and heavy heads. All that fits into
some sort of line-between the red. Couldn't we re-write a
Clinton card and celebrate another day? I can't find a good thing
about being one year older, one year and another day.
Tryst: it would be nice if I knew the reply. But I guess
a belief is believing something without any doubt. And I cannot
say that I doubt without. And I
think now is the right time to say: angels do actually turn grey. Their wings
wither and rust, and they fall and forget us.
Maybe, though, they revive each other.
Revive? Do they even know how to survive?
Miracle: maybe if I ask really nicely... but I can't say 'God'
without saying 'fuck you'. The nice rhythm done one and begun
to shower a haunting ceremony. So here is the prelude. It ends as it begins...
a maybe, maybe not, just might...be able to give up the light
without giving up the fight...
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