And if the last song will carry the soul to a new passage. I will come. I\'m wasting away in exil. You wittness this and even though the North can not save us. Heaven can. But Heaven has gone down.Down farther then us, then hell. It feels dark and lonely. This room does not feel the same old stench of orange and apple, but ash and disapointment.
I will waste my energy now on praying on a mirical, for Jesus can only save me now. My love. Oh no, Jesus, I have slipped and fallen. Oh no Jesus. I unrealistlcly dream about a Heaven free-er then God. Where the marshmellos dramatize and the politics serve like chocolates on a cotton pillow.
Some one told me not to cry. Now that I am a bit older everything can fall on a cue and the snow will be hard and quiet. I need apathy .
The smoke is dimmer and my paragraphs are slimmer. Weakness is coming and Jesus has not returned. I wish you were a stranger I could disengage. Disregard is not the way to kill the pain but the poison of faith.
Lost. Lost. Over my Head. Jesus please be subtle. Lost Gone. Gone.Chemicals are now slow in my head. Subtle....
