2003-09-12 @ 1:03 a.m.
Written deep, within the lining of pillows and bedspreads, and the palms of our hands, the inscription of a fatality to a time.
Linens smeared with black-ink sleep.
Spilled the bottle on lust|desire. Inked in unlove, black ink liar.
You lied in black ink.
...and that can't be changed.
White me out of this black-ink sleep, white out the words that ensnare us.
Erase the stains that run past our eyes, 'cause we're just so used to looking at them.
White out the empty errors.
Black ink spilled on bedsheets, what a time to forget.
Black ink smeared on our hands, we made those stains.
We made those stains.
Black ink stains my sheets.
We're stained with unlove|unlust.
Listening to: "We Will Become Silhouettes" by The Postal Service
everything © Claudia (2003-2008)