Days dragged over blank staring sheets. Black upon night with white eyes. She waits for her life as toys wait for joy, peace as in hope and hope as in death. To eat a whole bottle of hope to persuade life from its death and forgive thee self of that has been deemed through irony. Its bold black page as white as paper rain supreme over the land which god once concord. Now no hope is hearing as god once told but a reality is set through human connection. And without that as this and he is him, we live by ourselves with no god for a hope.
T.A.Chalifour 11/02/2010
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