Water flowing down the permanent canals.
Colors running and bleeding each other.
Red pressure spots residing in their familiar place.
Years of brokenness and neglect.
Ducts thought to be dried,
Yet springs forth gallons more.
How the nights are spent in the watery grave.
Cries heard from no one except her pillow.
Too many chances, to forgive again.
Quietness is welcomed, but hated.
For she lost all, including herself,
And sadness became her only friend.
- Matthias
"Blue Orbs Through a Glazed Len"
date unknown
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