As days drip in to weeks, I still wonder what I'm doing here. Things repeat themselves and fold backwards over eachother, an endless whirl-pool of constant madness.
What walls become smeared with fingerprints and dents from angered residents, how long until we see the red flowing?
She talks softly, sometimes too softly for me to even hearher, but still, in my mind, I can make out the words, and I know she misses me just as much as I miss her, but I'm too scared to tell her how I feel.
The marks expand, a filter for the lies, as the smoke rises and ashes fall, and she sings the ancient lullaby derived from the song sung at her fathers funeral.
A cardboard copy of a person, and she mocks me, she knows I'm just a fake. Teary eyes of molten lava, a most wonderful experience to be shared with the folk of the desolate hallway, light trailing off in to nowhere.
And there I will walk.
As days fall in to months, I feel the centuries wash over me, a waterfall of time, eternal...
I scream out, but you were not there.
And as time falls over itself, I feel the changes inside of me burtsting forward in a stream of transcendant light.
You are so beautiful.
And there I had been.