Monday, May 16, 2005 -- 9:16 PM
The words were gone, dammit. They used to grow out of his soul like grass and bleed him red, but now he's dry as hell. Where did they go? Fairweather friends, some-time revolutionaries. Nothing stays the same, that's what the words always told him in the dark and it was fine then, but gone the dark and now gone the words. The words had left him before, but before they left behind a burning as a token of their return. Now they've gone and left a laughing echo, moving from shadow to shadow in his bright world without words, without a need for words, and without rain kisses on his face and the sweet solstice of sorrow.
