31/3/10

oh to be immersed on the living. those exhilarating moments snatched between enforced supervision, drunk on that childhood state of happiness, of fulfilled dreams and hello kisses. pretty things that make up the atmosphere, that snow globe that never stops raining snowflakes down upon the rugged up porcelain child trapped in the glass world. oh to breathe life into the dead, the sound of beating hearts in the cemetry. you and i, the sound you make in the back of your throat when you yawn, the chipped polsh adorning my uncut nails. spinning in the dark, sneaking along gravel driveways, reading notes in oak trees meant for someone else. the wail of the siren, the sound of footsteps pounding the overpass- that realisation of waking up somewhere you never meant to be. To go back to the dead, to return to the still cases where glazed eyes stare unseeingly into dirt and pebbles. i guess nobody understands what i'm saying, the words i speak make no sense to those who listen. well hear when i say i'm going somewhere you cannot follow.