Your talking is just a lullaby ,laying me down.

Sitting here on this lonely room,watching the rain play on the roof's tops.The weather is saturated with gray clouds and mist,the same clouds and mist of your eyes.

The tears from my eyes bring me home,pouring down on my face...so I craw underneath my blanket where I can hide away and as long I stay inside it, I can wash away your face.

Looking from a window above,it looks like a story of love...I wonder if you know  that the simple touch of your hand...it bursts everything up.

Air is getting thinner,but I'm trying,I'm breathing.

At least, all this morbid weather its less contrasting with my inner self... decreasing my freaking hermit feeling.


"Frankly, I was horrified by life, at what a man had to do simply in order to eat, sleep, and keep himself clothed. So I stayed in bed and drank. When you drank the world was still out there, but for the moment it didn’t have you by the throat.” - factotum