caged eyes. wandering hearts. lost souls. etcetera and infinity.

like a trigger against raw skin. a slow burning ember digging too deep. a hole in the winter sky. reality is a name we give to our rotten idiosyncrasies. mirrors reflecting strangers too weak to look into  their own eyes. this ailing and troubled world is more poisonous than the blood that flows through our veins.

it's the little things that kill.