Tell me your secrets. And ask me your questions.

Oh let's go back to the start.

Yellow lines dart away from me in my rear view mirror. Trees come at my window. Tears come to my lids.

Everyone's past is the hardest thing to get over. It comes back to you at night with a simple flutter of an eyelash. A simple twitch of the fingers. Time doesn't heal all. Sometimes it corrodes you, it eats away at your flesh until there's no outer layer. Nothing to protect you. Now every little, minuscule thing tears at you. Rips you wide open for the world to prod at and trample on.

Welcome.

My words have no flowers in them, no. Oh no, no flowers today.

I'll take you back to the start...

Eyes on Fire

I've come to the conclusion that Valentines day is a very inconsiderate holiday. Sure, it's great if you love to get caught up in all the hype and you have someone you love that loves to get caught up as well; but what about the others? The ones who don't have anyone to celebrate with? We're jipped and jaded. There's not a day in our year that celebrates being single.

This is not an entry with flowery words or metaphorical sentences. My apologies.