was it forgotten, my skin broken and brawling for its time in the sun. i am eyes and nose of a stranger and my shadow leaves unexpectly. there is so many rooms in a house that lives alone with bare floors and hardwood scars. it is love isnt it that fills the cracks and leaves a polished surface? i was naive, swallowed in a sentence and spit out in a word. stolen sequence of events, down to you chirping sincere apologies and twisting your body out of my strangled grasp. i wanted you to stick around, be around, see you around. this is me letting go, some days of myself, some days of you. mostly i caress my chapped face and rince my salt water eyes, try to bring some silence to the hectic fusion of brutal thoughts. i am a monster in a catamari suit for stars, this is my story but i drank all the ink from my one good pen to prevent you from reading. tomorrow i can see darkness beyond my view, if i were smarter i would close my eyes and sleep for days. food plays tricks on my mind, wakes me and takes me out into the world of living, sweetly smells, fruity paragraph of human excuses. i would be lieing if i sad i was whole when pieces of me are glued to floor, maybe to heal or grow trees of rememberance from the seed of my foot. hearts are tissue temples of rogue distress and comfort, something i take for granted, when the scarlett walls are painted carcass brown. that’s the story, written with inkless ink on a page with no room for sympathy.