Think of all that depends upon you. Everything you care for and support; how they shall crumble at your loss.
Fill your mind with naughtness.
Blank it out,
The pain, the suffering,
Itíll always be there,
Poking its ugly head through,
What ever you choose as fodder.
Sticks and stones
May break my bones
But whips and chains
Burnt and crisp.
That's how I like my men;
The room is cold and has been like this for several months. If I close my eyes I can visualise everything in it. Right down, right down to the broken handle on the third drawer down of the dressing table. And the world out side this room has also assumed a familiar shape. The same events shuffled in a slightly different order each day, just like a modern shopping centre.
And it's so cold, yeah it's so cold.
What is this feeling called love? Why me? Why you? Why here? And why now?
It doesn't make no sense no. It's not convenient no. It doesn't fit my plans oh itís something I don't understand.
(F. E. E. L. I. N. G. C. A. double L. E. D. L. O. V. E.?)