I'm sleeping with a knife again I'm just a drawing on the wall sooner or later everything falls apart every day a punishment I have tried so hard to do right fought to heal every hurt every turn I take leads me back to where I started from all my dreams they die on me and I don't think there's ever healing it the days grow long filled with empty hours when I wake up alone with these shadows as my only company splinters of glass at my feet silence in her white dress like dust on books no-one reads and beds no-one sleeps in anymore (speechless nameless sleepless alone) "...the fog is rising" [Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)]
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