Tuesday, July 17, 2012
I still believe (grand design)
there is a trap i would walk out of but must instead spring shut. a cold hard iron cutting through the skin and the worrisome blood afterward. Dripping on the carpet threatening a stain. A matter that nags down the moments and reminds me they have past. Its like the watered down troubles must be met for the teeth and concrete ones to be muddled through. Give me some escape for the all sides snares are all around. A happy forgetful day, but even so that's gone to fast and I am back in it. Burn down the scarecrow shut out my voice, but make it right.