tinder_dry Death of a Rose All we need is a match, to open the closed hatch, to flavour the outside, to where the ashes reside. All we need is the crack, to flood the forgotten track, to trample our words flat, to keep the heavens fat. Every single headlight stare, in the making of your snare, in minions greatly feared, in answers not unclear. Every mouth hungering in awe, in sharpened wit without flaw, in coral blue supporting life, in this pain is my knife. You shall dare no more time, at once begun this steep climb, at samples given in confusion, at eyes turned in question. 040922 what's it to you? who go blather from