don't ya hate it when that happens?
Friday, November 21, 2003
numb
that feeling ironically defined by lack of the former
in time there is nothing, nothing my dear,
everything and nothing, something to fear.
i tread upon the soft, tall grass
in hopes of finding you here.
the wind it whispers me secrets.
in grayness we walk, hands intertwined,
nothing expected, sorrows combined...
silence steals voices, laughter, and sighs
in silence i say my endless goodbyes
goodbye to summer and new youthful spring
goodbye to fall in which death hides within
i search for my happiness elsewhere
for everywhere i see
the grass is really tainted and dead
its softness brushes my knees.
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