The story so far

Sit, she said. A guiding hand pouring from within her dark composition. Surveying, I storked a reality of product. In airs of crisp blossom and pre existing smoke, I poised to breathe. Relaxed focus allowed me to echo the words into my worn body. With tempred expression, she mumbled a flowing melody that's only purpose was to form the faint sound of a proposition.

Unjust and uneasy, perferations of a past like no other assembled itself into the boundary of my consiousness. I gazed into the open flame of retribution, idolised as an informal touch. Slowly, her voice came into focus again, my heart beat like the passing of the tide, whispering into my ear like a hurricaine of binary. Abandoning all, I subsided into a world of pixelation and fantasy, which felt like home.

In distant dreams there lies a lonely echo where time stands only to eixst. Calls of monopolised confusion seek to alight the journeys of a warped self discovery. Face down, in the dust from the deviant wisdom of dominating strangers, again the filtered smoke from a pursed lip bought forth the reality of the day.

Still I lay, expressionless. Gaping mental wounds of passing time had broken the will of a once strong man. Clockwork manipulation of events finally succeeded in tempering the shaddowy genius. A life of passionate pages no longer bares the story. With guitar in hand there comes a melodic triumph, a song plays, a heart dies, my love fades.



- K