Death of a Rose I can measure my life by its beats of fhythm. I wonder how infinite are the melodies that hit an individuals ear, and how many of those sounds caress the soul, ready it to be bound, pure movement and instinctual following. Not a robbing of the soul, but a joining, seperate laughing. Slow sounds, erotic shivers from the air.
Delight in shound, I have known no feeling except this movement. Erratic and dancing, eyes half closed, letting the electric control movement. Addiction to sleepness nights, and thoughts.
I wonder at the zero, and laugh at it.
Feeling the transformation in my eyelids.

Wrong words beginning and hurt lips ending, waking to find no dream has happened!
A sensory deprevation of single focus.
Transport me into rememberance.
Consider my actions and not my habits.
Play a tune and smile.
Not for my passing but for my wandering.

Trepidation is the yearning for two.
what's it to you?
who go