Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Winfield Blue Tastes Like Shit.
It knots and twists and folds and rises and twists again. Preventing me from leaving the house. Stopping me from answering the phone. Anxieties cold talons are gripping me and refusing to relinquish it's hold. So that's when you get a knife, and cut it off at the source, cut it's fucking legs off and tear the talons from my flesh. She was the one that always tore me away from it's nasty grip. She's gone and I'm trying to learn to hold a knife. Trying to learn to live now. Each day it gets harder and I'm sure I'm forgetting everything I've learnt. Where are you now? I need you more than ever. Shock melts away like sugar in the rain. Now I'm left with this empty hole.