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like a gray gap, some where in between my fingers by brain starts to drain into the abyss again.

The strange attraction to the end at this time of the year draws me closer to the other side. I really do enjoy this season, melancholy, gray, like something from your past whispering sweet sweet nothings into your ear.

I want to lay on the cold granite rock and run my hands through the grass, and french kiss the mist.

If i could focus long enough on the flame maybe I could erase the road behind me, and fire up my engine for the future... If I could focus, which I can't.

Now I'm gonna love ya, tell the heavens stop the rain. I can feel it..... the wind blowing through my vessles and cracking my core, letting out the vile hatred and disgusting depression that's been bottled up for so many years. The ride rips my flesh from my bones and whispers like a kettle through the steampipe of my nerves.

the violent thrashing like a fish on the end of a hook tells me I should look for better days and stop concentrating on the evil that forms in my blood once again. Coughing and choking on reality my brain is in a slight bit of a daze, this world is so laughable it's pitifull.

I want to ride on a merry go round, with the hooks protruding from the center, and sticking into my flesh. I guess I must be ready again, ready to be close to someone, ready for the pain that it will bring.

So I can mail the letter again, with the note attached, I love to hate you.