Moonlight falls on the gravestone like death the gravestone is mine... a crow caws so close to my ear, i taste a bitter taste and it smells like death i see nothing but utter stillness i can see my fear run through the yard i see the ghost of curt cobain run through the yard and i chase after him there is a taste of sweet dew on my tongue in my bedroom there are posters on the wall i read a note over and over again and the words 'sup loser' haunt me... the giants peer over the midgets intimidating he loves everything about me, why does he had me so? the dull pencil of life tried to write on the soul and failed. i am as happy as a dull face in the dark my eyes go from ice blue to pitch black in the blink of an eye Lydia is dead in her mind. in the next months i'll walk through in a daze the hazy fog echoes as she lives for death she dies everyday and lives for tomorow elle amour mort mais elles deteste vie her pen writes on the pages of her heart a sweet song she will end the wait of life with the death of spirits.
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That thing, that moment when you kiss someone everything becomes hazy, and the only thing in focus is you and this person. And you realize that that person is the only person you are supposed to kiss for the rest of your life. And for one moment you get this amazing gift, and you wanna laugh and you wanna cry because you feel so lucky you have found it and so scared that it will go away all at the same time.
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The first moments of sleep are an image of death; a hazy torpor grips our thoughts and it becomes impossible for us to determine the exact instant when the I, under another form, continues the task of existence.
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Unfortunately the picture is still hazy and not very clear as to the scope of the program and the nature of the program.
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A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others crazy?
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