and I thought to myself....
is there a place for ones story...

what can I ask for, so the Night
would come to an absolute stop...

the drizzling of promises to
herself have failed her...

it takes the little blood left within
you to reconcile with the past...

a chain of incomplete
inconsistencies...

and as the clock approaches
the last minutes of the night...

she cradles darkness, for
her tears crystalize...

What was it that you said, when
we both felt the ashes on our faces...

loud noises and flashing lights,
I try to keep them inside but I lose...

she listens as the night
keeps counting down her days...

December approaches its end,
clouds trail mountain tips...

the acid drips off her fingertips,
she savors fire...