i read into your mind, to tell that you are shouting. therefore, i must cry and not talk.
tears sell slowly, they are a few weeks old and are eager to come, whoever said you
cause me pain, or you, cause me pain, tears are a blind eye's way to touching the
world even with new beauty when there are faces around you don't want, all that
matter like dreams is the glow of that feeling, the blue-touch and the depth of knowing
like no other-maybe you did. i am blind and still running. tomorrow when i don't speak
i'll cut the pain into, and see how much it lasts. till then for years and less sing well.